Appointments a-plenty.

It's been a while since my last post. Let's play catch up, shall we?

• Thursday, 9/25: Had my last chemo treatment. Yay!

• Had a week of feeling like crap. Boo. 

• Tuesday, 9/30: Met my radiation oncologist, Dr. Levine. Love her. She's energetic and friendly and smart and adorable. She says I'll need 17 radiation treatments.

• Friday, 10/3: Had a PET scan. The administrator was annoyingly chatty--it was 8 in the morning and I was still tired and he wouldn't shut up with the small talk--and the nurse missed my port the first time she tried to stick me. It was a bad start to my day.

• Friday, 10/3: After my PET scan my arm was hurting and my upper back felt tight, so I called Dr. Gaeke. She asked me to come on in to her office to be checked. I headed back to Middletown--from whence I'd just come. The nurse took my vitals and my heart rate was up to 154. I was tachycartic. Dr. Gaeke said my blood clot was probably freaking my heart out, so she sent me to the ER where I had a chest x-ray, and EKG, and an ultrasound of my arm. I was in the ER for 9 long hours (Mom and Dad kept me good company, though). The ER doctor said he thought a piece of my clot broke off and moved to my lung, but the treatment for that is to take Coumadin, which I'm already on, so they sent me home.

• Monday, 10/6: Had my first occupational therapy appointment to try to reduce swelling in my arm. Again, the blood clot. I had no idea the clot would be such a pain in the ass. Or arm. Anyway, they measured up and down my arm, measured each finger, around my elbow and shoulder. My left is a total of 10cm larger than my right. They'll massage to stimulate lymph drainage (which the therapist pronounces druh•NAJJ, like it's French or something) and give me special garments to wear to reduce the swelling. Let's hope my wedding rings fit again soon.

• Tuesday, 10/7: Had an early morning appointment with Dr. Schaublin, my neurologist, for the nerve damage my left thigh has incurred because of the chemo. The doc wanted me to get an EMG, a test that uses shocks and muscle-deep needle pokes to determine the extent of the nerve damage. Because I am currently anticoagulated thanks to the Coumadin, he couldn't perform the needle portion of the test. Thank God. But the adorably blond technician wheeled out her cattle prod-esque machine and proceeded to shock the hell out of me. It felt like I had electric collars banded around my leg and was trying out for the Rockettes while standing next to the charged fence. The thing zapped me inches off the table. The doc came in afterward with the results of the test and said everything looked normal, have a nice day. Well, how 'bout that.  The pain has been better since my last round of chemo, so we'll just wait and see if the pain goes away on its own. If not, back to his office for more tests. Ugh.

• Tuesday, 10/7: Left the Dr. Schaublin's office and went across town to Dr. Gaeke's to go over the results from the PET scan. All traces of cancer in my collarbone area and breastbone area are gone (YAY!), but one of my tonsils is suspicious. WHAT?! My right tonsil is twice the size of the other and, according to the scan, it metabolized the radioactive glucose I'd been injected with--something only cancer cells are supposed to do. Dr. Gaeke said I should seen an ENT right away to get an opinion about what to do: tonsils out? More chemo? Radiate?

• Wednesday, 10/8: Went to see Dr. Coors, the ENT who called me back in May to tell me I had Hodgkins. He's one of the best doctors I've ever had. Just love the guy. Anway, he stuck his fingers down my throat (gag), pulled on my tongue, massaged my neck, and said I should probably get my tonsils out just to be safe. HAVEN'T I SUFFERED ENOUGH!? Not like it's a big deal, but ugh. Just one more round of appointments, one more procedure, one more obstacle between present misery and future relief.

• Today, 10/9: Had another occupational therapy appointment. Very relaxing. Like a light massage with emphasis on the armpits. A little strange, but still, relaxing. I'm a fan of the lymph druh•NAJJ.

• Today, 10/9: Left the therapy appointment and headed back to West Chester to get my CT scan in preparation for radiation. Before the scan, the technician had me lie on a table, face up. She pulled a warm, malleable plastic screen from an electric skillet filled with hot water and pressed it to my forehead, nose, chin, cheeks to form the mask they'll use to bolt me to the table each time I go in for radiation. After the plastic cooled and hardened, she pulled the mask from my face and led me back to get the CT scan. The technician put the mask on me and bolted me down for the first time. I couldn't move a millimeter if I wanted to. Not uncomfortable, just constricting, controlling, confining. The technician went on to open my hospital gown and align my body with the lasers emitted from the machine. She and a few assitants marked my arms and chest with Sharpies and covered their marks with special tape. These marks will stay on my body for the duration of my radiation experience. For the next six weeks or so I'll have inch-long blue dashes on each arm, chest, and abdomen, marks they'll use to position me exactly as I was today to reduce the chance of radiation scattering to my teeth, throat, breasts. To reduce the chance of radiation eventually causing cancer in those sites.

WHEW.

I hadn't realized until spelling all this out just how many appointments I've had lately. Before this ordeal I'd go see a doctor for the occasional sore throat, the annual gyno appointment. Now I'm a bona fide professional patient. And more to come. Surgery for the tonsils. Surgery to get my port out. Radiation every day (weekends off) for the next month. Monthly trips to Dr. Gaeke's for the next year to have my blood drawn to monitor my clot. Appointments every three months to keep an eye on possible cancer recurrence. And on. And on. And on. For the rest of my life.

But no appointment tomorrow. So I will sleep in, maybe do my nails, go for a walk. Just enjoy  a day without doctors.

Love you all,

Tara