The shaman made it back to the IV room this AM, after a month’s hiatus. This began the fourth and last round of Chemo. It was much as he remembered it. The only difference was that his recliner was now set well away from the Pit of Oblivion, and much closer to an edifice at the far end of the room. Straining his eyes, he found that this was a pillar onto which hung a bell with a pull rope. He was later to find out that the parting ritual in the IV Infusion Room was that patients got to ring the bell when their treatment was complete. If the shaman had ever heard this bell rung, he did not remember.
It was not long before the attendant had his 2-cycle IV pump putt-putting along.
When that bell is rung, the applause is loud and memorable! I heard it, often, during "The Warden"s first bout. She missed the second time, as she was not in infusion, but hospitalized - and was freed on a Saturday. It still slightly bothers her that she didn't get to "ring the bell" the second go-round. But, she's been FREE for nearly 5 years, now, thank God!
I had a visit from Mo, the pharmacist. She's a fiesty thing, and one of my favorites.
She was glad to see me in such good shape this AM.She'd been monitoring my progress through the last month. I take it the tale of the test results painted a rather dark view of things. She's been in conference with the oncologist. They're possibly plotting to give my kidneys a rest and have me knock off on Thursday instead of Friday. I guess last month I found out what "too-sick to be scared" is like. Funny, but I didn't notice it seriously affecting my improvising skills. I was making the nurses laugh all the way through.
The IV attendant had me moved to the COVID Oubliette. As Flip Wilson used to say: "In the corner, in the back, in the dark." I've got a private room all to myself today. I found out they're still worried I might be able to transmit the disease, even though I had a negative test on 7/4. It's fine. I'm not worried and I can miss all the hijinks. Some days around here, it's like the freakin' leper section at the Pool of Bethesda. I 'd go to strike up a conversation with the wretch in the next recliner and find out the wretch has nothing left under the COVID mask. That certainly makes things awkward.
Moose brought me a sandwich from Jimmy John's. That's the best part of having a couple extra weeks off from the Bug Juice: my appetite came back. I had Lee's Famous Recipe Dead Fried Chicken last night. This isn't my favorite, but I darn near hurled an order of Popeye's two weeks ago. Things are improving.
When that bell is rung, the applause is loud and memorable! I heard it, often, during "The Warden"s first bout. She missed the second time, as she was not in infusion, but hospitalized - and was freed on a Saturday. It still slightly bothers her that she didn't get to "ring the bell" the second go-round. But, she's been FREE for nearly 5 years, now, thank God!
Amen to that... "The Warden" who I just call JOY and she is such Joy to be around....
you have a wonderful wife Mark....
and she deserves you as you are a darn good husband from what I've seen of ya...
I had a visit from Mo, the pharmacist. She's a fiesty thing, and one of my favorites.
She was glad to see me in such good shape this AM.She'd been monitoring my progress through the last month. I take it the tale of the test results painted a rather dark view of things. She's been in conference with the oncologist. They're possibly plotting to give my kidneys a rest and have me knock off on Thursday instead of Friday. I guess last month I found out what "too-sick to be scared" is like. Funny, but I didn't notice it seriously affecting my improvising skills. I was making the nurses laugh all the way through.
The IV attendant had me moved to the COVID Oubliette. As Flip Wilson used to say: "In the corner, in the back, in the dark." I've got a private room all to myself today. I found out they're still worried I might be able to transmit the disease, even though I had a negative test on 7/4. It's fine. I'm not worried and I can miss all the hijinks. Some days around here, it's like the freakin' leper section at the Pool of Bethesda. I 'd go to strike up a conversation with the wretch in the next recliner and find out the wretch has nothing left under the COVID mask. That certainly makes things awkward.
Moose brought me a sandwich from Jimmy John's. That's the best part of having a couple extra weeks off from the Bug Juice: my appetite came back. I had Lee's Famous Recipe Dead Fried Chicken last night. This isn't my favorite, but I darn near hurled an order of Popeye's two weeks ago. Things are improving.
Thanks for posting this Shaman - had been wondering about your progress.
In addition to several progressively involved surgeries, our absolutely dear and precious loved one went though 4 of those regimes - rang that bell every time with a smile. Still can't fathom how she managed all of that with such grace, and yet she left and is hearing bells in Heaven now.
Still praying on your behalf and wishing you all of the best - want you to be among us and able to remember ringing that bell for many years to come. Forward.
I often go into Lee's and when they ask what I want I tell them I want a half a dead chicken in a box. You should see the looks I get. When I'm asked to explain I tell them "I want the chicken dead. I want it cut up. I want it fried and put in a box with sides. You can do that, can't you?"
"You want it dead?"
"Do you serve it any other way?"
There's a Wednesday night 3 piece dark special I call "Dead Chicken Bingo." It costs a few bucks to enter. There's a waiting area full of people. They hand out tickets and then call out numbers. When they call your number, you win dead chicken in a box. Everybody's a winner.
I showed up for Day 2 and found that things had changed. They'd double-checked my COVID story and realized that I was well outside the 21 day exposure limit. I got sprung from the COVID oubliette and thrown back out into the main area. My attendant was sick and tired of having to suit up in hazmat every time she went to see me.
Mr Shaman, Keep the faith. My wife & I have both had cancer. I got a "neo bladder" out of my bladder cancer 12 years ago. I did not have to go through any chemo or radiation but had plenty of cat scans and catheters for 10 years. On the other hand, my wife had ovarian surgery and then 6 cycles of chemo. The last two cycles were delayed a bit due to lousy lab results. Still have cat scans and oncologists visits for awhile yet. Keep that positive attitude and I believe God has good things for you down the road God's blessings Rod
Unless something changes, today is my last day at Chemo Camp.
My kidneys took a hit with COVID, and they want to go easy on them. The easiest way to do that is to knock off the bug juice a day early. I go for my final labs at 0730 and then report to camp. They'll make the decision while I'm on the initial saline flush.
I know now why so many people I've known who go through this ordeal come away saying they were glad they did it, but would never be able to do it again. I still have the worst of it to go through. That will start sometime in the next couple of days and last most of next week. It's like one of those video games where every level gets harder. The next two weeks will be a grind.
How do I feel? I signed the release form. I walked into this fully informed. It beats the alternatives. This AM, the results of my latest HCG Tumor Marker test have me back below 1, and my AFB from earlier in the week is on its way back down as well. These would be a good indication the cancer is dead. I have a PET scan scheduled in early August that will confirm it.
KYHillChick keeps wanting to know how I'm doing. Every day of this I keep being reminded that I've entered a land without a vocabulary to describe it. Next to nobody ever goes here, so there just ain't words for it. The surgeon who took off my nut last year gave me some numbers:
5000 cases of Seminoma in the US per year. About half are a form that is not like mine: that leaves 2,500 cases. Of those 2,500 cases, 95% get successful treatment by just having the nut removed. That leaves 125 poor schlubs per year getting a trip to Chemo Camp. Most are under 25. None of them are over 50. I'm days away from turning 64.
Outside my dorm room Junior year there was a Graffiti wall that guys had been marking up for a few years. The one that used to catch my eye every morning when I'd leave for classes was "Any man can piss on the floor. It takes a hero to $hit on the ceiling." If I get to ring the bell today, I will feel I've lived up to that motto.
It's official. Chemo Camp will be over for me this afternoon. The latest labs show my kidneys are improving, but they don't want to push them any further. I'm on my second to last bag of bug juice.
I've felt like crap on-and-off, but this is normal. I have no stamina, but I can at least get to the bathroom from the recliner and back again. Things are gradually improving. I still get waves of feeling poisoned, but those are getting less.
I'm overstocked on reading material, but have no way of enjoying it. Reading takes concentration, and that takes stamina. You don't notice it until you don't have it. Luckily, I've got Youtube on the big TV, and I just surf mindlessly. That kills hours.
Yesterday was a real ass-kicker, but I brought it on myself.
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When I get to the bottom, I go back to the top of the slide Where I stop, and I turn, and I go for a ride 'Til I get to the bottom, and I see you again Yeah, yeah, yeah!
. . . something like that. I was 5 days past my last poisoning, and was starting to feel jiggy. I finally screwed up enough gumption to drive out to McD's for breakfast-- hadn't done that in weeks. After I got home, the Mooselette's Marlin 336 was sitting in the corner, daring me. I've got to get the rings screwed down. I thought it would be easy.
Getting down to the basement was easy. Getting out? Not so.
My problem has been one of blood pressure. Laying in the recliner, I'm fine. However, if I get vertical, my BP drops down to ridiculous numbers. There just isn't any blood going to my brain.
I started noticing trouble, trying to get the nuts on the rings. Something wasn't happening right. It was like there were no threads to catch. I eventually got them tightened down, but by then the last train to Safeville had already pulled out. By the time I got back to the stairs, I was having trouble with basic concepts like Up and Down. I crawled up the stairs and threw myself out onto the kitchen floor and just waited for sensibility to return. When I could, I staggered out to the recliner.
Dumb ass.
In other news, KYHillChick went down to get her first bloodwork done in 2 years. She's with the same Oncology group and she's just passed 4 years since her lumpectomy. We share a doctor. All the bloodwork came back stellar.
While she was waiting, Mo, the pharmacist dropped by. Mo is this ball of fire that rides herd on me. She dropped by every day I was in Chemo Camp to make sure things were going to plan. She and 'HillChick talked, and I want to publicly forward her commendation of my two sons, Moose and Angus. Yes, indeed, they were with me all the way in this. However, we all thought it was just SOP. That's what I did for my parents. That's just what you do for your parents. What I did not realize was how rare this has become-- enough so that Mo came out gushing her praises for them.
I have to say that my sons never left me wanting for food or a ride. Other Chemo Campers had that kind of help from their family, but most of them that did were pretty far down the bunny hole on the palliative side of things. A lot of the folks that were as healthy as I was were coming in alone.
Did it make a difference? Damn, right it did. All told, I've driven myself to anything only twice in 8 weeks, and that was just to prove that I still could. I've walked out of Chemo Camp barely able to hold my head up-- not what you want out on the roads operating a vehicle. I'm also Diabetic, and the key to keeping that disease at bay is regular feeding, and Chemo Camp makes no provisions for catering. Moose and Angus were always there for me as needed with a dog or some cheese coneys.
The big worry: Moose and Angus have been taking care of the house and the farm, keeping the grass mowed down and so on. I've been to the mailbox once since Chemo Camp started, and that was just to show a physical therapist that I didn't need him.
Chemo has become such a common thing these days, that I think folks take it for granted. Cancer is now looked at as a manageable disease. Believe me, even as healthy as I was going into this, I was draggin' ass by the time I got into the middle of it. If you ever get the chance to help a family member or an acquaintance through Chemo, jump on it. It's an offer from God Almighty to earn your wings.
You have only to look at yesterday's fiasco to see what I mean. This was one of the first days I've really been left alone. Chemo Brain told me I was cool for going to the basement. Anyone watching me would have said I was a damn fool.
The good Lord has blessed you with a supportive family. Slow down and take your time getting back into doing things. I'm very happy that you beat this cancer. May God bless you and your family.
When they drop dirt on the box, or start the last fire, one of the measures will be how you treated your family. The way you managed that will be a pretty good indicator of the way you treated with the population in general, and I think, (however inconsequential that is) we get graded regarding those interactions.
Glad you seem to be pulling out of the nose dive, always interesting to read your stories. We are better for having been allowed to ride along.
A lot of the folks that were as healthy as I was were coming in alone.
. That really is sad, My wife never went to a treatment alone. Looking back I really don't remember many that didn't have someone with them.
I'd say a good half the folks I met up with were coming in alone. Some were those ones without faces, etc. One hearty fellow I met had been at it for 6 years. The first thing that happened after his cancer diagnosis was his wife dumped him and threw him out of the house.
What was really heart-rending was watching someone barely make it into the recliner giving it maximum effort and then seeing the nurse come by and tell them they were being denied treatment due to their blood results coming back with dangerously low levels of this or that. I had a couple close shaves myself, on that front, but I had somebody to pile me back in the car and take me home. If I'd spent my last full measure on getting there, I'd not want to be schlepping my carcass home alone.
Sorry to see this Shaman. Your attitude alone will get you through this! Never, ever give up!
Aw! Shucks. This is turning into just another tricky day for me. I made a few kerfluffles today passing out in reception and had to get dumped in a wheelchair and ridden around like a sack of potatoes.
The one really funny part was that KYHillChick had to run me down to Hoxworth Blood Center on an emergency trip for platelets. She let me out and went to park the car. I stumbled into the donation waiting room. Inside were a dozen of my darker brothers and sisters, and they were all jawing about the best soul food restaurants. I couldn't get a word in edgewise to ask them to find me a wheelchair, so I just passed out on them-- they were laughing and jawing so much, they didn't notice. I guess folks pass out in that room all the time. I finally came to and started asking questions-- found out a couple of good soul food and BBQ joints I didn't know.
SHAMAN- " ... I finally came to and started asking questions-- found out a couple of good soul food and BBQ joints I didn't know."
I believe that is what is called "a silver lining behind a dark cloud."
Sorry things aren't going as well as you'd like. As the famous horse packer, Joe Back, said in his book, Horses, Hitches, and Rocky Trails, "When you come to the end of your rope, tie a knot in it and hang on!" Hang on, Shaman. Best of luck to you.
I don't know if this is going to make sense to anyone, but it ain't about fear.
I"ve had plenty to fear in my life. I don't have to look back all that far. It was just a year ago I realized I had something growing between my legs that shouldn't be there. Fear played a big part in that late-night inner dialog. It also gripped me at that last moment I was crawling on the table in the operating theatre. I was just too drugged to do anything about it.
Yesterday was particularly bad on a lot of fronts. The biggest problem is that when I stand up, my blood pressure crashes. I don't know if I'm going to have 10 minutes or 10 seconds of walking-around time. Fear? No. I just have kitchen chairs lined up along the way. If I start to go down, I just aim for a chair. At the blood bank yesterday, I knew I had a target chair 15 yards from the car. I just aimed for it and got there, even though I couldn't see the last couple of feet. I'm sure chronic drunks do this as a basic matter of course. Fighter pilots do it as second nature. I'm sure Jorge and Pugs are masters at it.
There's another aspect to this. KYHillChick and I had to have a talk yesterday. She could see changes in me that are pretty scary. I ain't all pink and healthy looking, in fact I am getting pretty damn gray. She wanted to know if I thought I was going to meet Jesus anytime soon. The answer I gave was strictly negative, but still pretty scary.
First off, I'm skirting territory where healthy people don't go until their last days. I've been put there through chemical poisoning. Years ago, I had the pleasure of knowing a fellow who was a low 2-digit liver recipient. They invented the process here at U.C. He was one of the guinea pigs. He explained to me that at some point the body starts releasing chemicals that . . . well, the short of it is, they tell you you're going to die. I'm low enough right now, that I'm starting to get into that territory. I've been there before. It really is like walking through the Valley of the Shadow of Death. The difference is that the first time I got put there back in the 90's, I really thought I was dying. This time through, I know I'm not. It is an effect of the poison. That's all. The Valley is just a shortcut, not my destination. I'm just setting up for a High-G maneuver.
Second. I've had a recent brush with the real thing, sitting right here in this chair, typing on the 24hourcampfire. I had a clot break loose and go through my heart and into my lung. I know what it's like. I didn't even know there was a problem. I just found myself on the floor with the chair on top of me. That was back in April, before the Chemo started. Believe me when I tell you, you've got nothing to fear. I'll never have a bit of guilt pulling a clean double-lung shot on a buck. It literally is nothing. I can't even tell you which post I was typing. I just picked myself off the floor and resumed typing. I didn't figure out what it was until that evening, sitting in the ER.
My guess is that some of you are reading this and wincing. Dad used to have this running gag with the bartender at the place we used to eat lunch. The bartender used to ask "Hey Ralph! How's your Prostate?" My Dad had outpatient prostate surgery years ago, and we used to laugh at the guys at the bar that would squirm in their seats when Dad described his "Ream Job." I don't write this to make you feel uncomfortable, but there is less here to fear than you may think.
I'm due back down at the Cancer Center this AM for a repeat of yesterday-- blood tests at 0900 and then a bit of wait to see what they need to dump into me this afternoon. This is not how I wanted to spend my birthday weekend, but it beats the alternatives.
I am amazed at the fact you have such command of your language skills whilst all this is swirling about you.
I often wondered about my Mother as she progressed into the oblivion that is Alzheimers, in her younger days articulate and bright beyond compare, then when the grip got her she could only say yes or no...I am sure the intelligent woman still in that husk screamed to communicate. The day her hip broke, she answered the question the nurse asked on the way up to surgery, if I was her son, by saying "Yes, my middle son Richard", she had not spoken a word in a year, I guess the pain had her focused, I was stunned.
Shaman you are blessed with the ability to converse intelligently, I am grateful that you take the time to share with us this journey.
I am amazed at the fact you have such command of your language skills whilst all this is swirling about you.
Shaman you are blessed with the ability to converse intelligently, I am grateful that you take the time to share with us this journey.
It's the combination of boredom and existential clarity. It's the mix of extreme banality and the singularly sublime. This is the shaman with left hand raised and right hand touching the Earth as witness. It is the Bhumisparsha mudra.
. . . and then the compressor in the snack bar's reefer case snapped on, and the shaman found himself back in some semblance of reality. The light of mid-morning streaming through the snack bar windows. He looked down and saw the laptop was quickly running out of battery and needed recharging.
The results of the morning's bloodwork is still not back. I've got another hour or so of waiting to see what they'll be dumping into my veins today.
I'm back in the chair, waiting on a unit of Bpos and a double side of platelets. The blood bank says it's already in transit. I'm already hooked to the IV. KYHillChick has left for home. Moose is coming with lunch.
Can anyone spot me a stick of Beamen's? I'll pay you back later.
After 10 years of cancer treatments, including chemo and radiation, I rang the bell in august of 2014. I hope you are as successful in your fight as I was. 8 years cancer free!!
I rang the bell last Thursday. This was just cleaning up the mess.
I'm home now. I ended up with a buffet of whole blood, platelets, magnesium and saline. It left me with the whole-body equivalent of a bad taste in my mouth. I'm not going to complain. I'm at least not passing out when I stand up to pee.
I even had some entertainment. The "Relaxation Coach" dropped by to give me some breathing techniques. I let her go for a bit and then explained that I was still a practicing shaman and could breathe my way out of just about anything as required. BTW: I don't include Chemo hangover in that list-- that $hit kicks my ass.
I turn 64 today, and if the PET scan comes back negative next week, you're probably reading something from the oldest guy to beat Seminoma via Chemo-- certainly the oldest in a while.
UPDATE: After a strong cup of coffee, I can report that things are looking better. I'm not on the verge of passing out any more. I may have round the corner.
Well, the tribe showed up today for the adoration of the Patriarch.
I managed to get downstairs and get the scope mounted on Mooselette's Marlin 336. . . and made it back up without passing out!!! That was a big turnaround.
When the Shaman's Sixty-Four.... Can anyone recall any verses to modify specifically for Shaman?
May you have many more my friend. Years that is. Since you are also tge bard of the tribe i expect you have countless verses swirling around in your brain!
Looks like I'm late....but still Happy Bday.....Keep moving, the Red Bloods cells will eventually rise to normal and the world will pass under your feet much easier.
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