Usually that question is accompanied by an apathetic shrug, suggesting no one. But that question sums up what the nurse asked me at our first cancer treatment meeting.
“Do you have a support system?”
It was sobering and somewhat embarrassing. Who in my life cares what’s going on? To whom will this matter?
I quickly answered “My family. My church family. And several friends.” Imagining the circle of closeness starting at home, I had to take stock of people in my life who matter, who care.
I didn’t design it this way. Since becoming an independent adult I’ve tried my best to take care of myself and others and not ask for help. There have been times I’ve been in need after some set-backs but they were few and brief. I love paying my debts in full when I can.
But now people are offering help and prayers. I accept. I am overwhelmed by so many encouraging, supporting words from y’all. Thank you. It matters.
You know when you get a splinter, your skin around it hurts/itches/burns? That’s how this port feels, for now. It will heal in another week. There are two incision points and this quarter-sized knob is just below the skin. The port has this soft space where they will use to inject chemotherapy. A tube goes from the port, under my skin, to a large vein in my neck. It’s better than stabbing my arm or hand every time. This port stays implanted as long as I need chemo. Maybe more than a year.
We will meet with the doctor this morning for his plan to see what med’s they’ll be using and for how long. Bracing for side effects.
We met this morning in the operating room. I was about to get a medi-port installed in my chest. I was cold and tense, knowing that I would be awake when they used the scalpel to imbed this plastic tube under my skin. I was trying to distract myself by counting the dots of the sterile tent they draped over my body and head. One of the four medical team members shaved a large patch of my right chest. Soon the surgeon would give me two local shots and start cutting. Then you snuck in.
The tube in my arm that was serving antibiotics was now serving cocktails. Like room temperature double shots of 151 Rum. The tension in my shoulders vanished. My eyelids relaxed. My cold fingers unclenched. Christmas music played in the background. Let it snow. Take your time out there Doc, I’m having a happy party under this blue tarp.
Although we had an intimate relationship this morning, I sense you leaving me already. I can see why certain celebrities have paid dearly to have you back. But you have done what I paid you to do so I bid you adieu. I hope it will be years before we connect again.
The operation only took 20 minutes, then to the recovery room to watch Family Feud. After care instructions: No driving today. No heavy lifting. Don’t make any big decisions. So I guess I’ll fold up my laptop now and stop bidding on that three story treehouse in Reykjavík that sleeps 15. Wrong color anyway.
The disease is lymphoma. It’s cancer of the lymphatic (immune) system. Initially called Hodgkin’s Disease, named after the English physician Thomas Hodgkin who first described the condition in 1832. It starts when some blood cells grow out of control. If a specific type of abnormal cell called a Reed-Sternberg cell is detected, the lymphoma is classified as Hodgkin’s.
Non-Hodgkin’s lymphoma is more common. There were 74,200 new cases in 2019. 2015 figures estimate over 4.3 million people were affected in the U.S. The five year survival rate is 71%. The typical patients are white men between ages of 65 to 74.
Usually the lymph nodes in the neck swell and the cancer can spread to other organs. My first CAT scan ruled out cancer of the brain, tongue and neck. Last week’s PET scan will let us know where else it might be.
There are 60 different types of non-Hodgkin’s lymphoma! I have “aggressive B cell type” revealed by the biopsy. Each type responds to different therapies. There are over 60 different chemicals that are used singly or in combination to destroy the cancer cells or at least stop them from growing. There is also immunotherapy and radiation.
The Lord himself goes before you and will be with you; he will never leave you nor forsake you. Do not be afraid; do not be discouraged.
— Deuteronomy 31:8
I have written a few emails to family and friends about my struggle with cancer but this blog will be a good way for me to compose my thoughts and quickly communicate with them and any interested parties. So, if you subscribe below, you will get an email every time I write an entry here.
I was diagnosed with non-Hodgkin lymphoma (NHL) last month (November, 2019). Since then I’ve gone through a couple more tests to clearly define which one of the 60 different forms of NHL I have and where else it might be in my body, other than the lymph nodes in my neck.
Friday 13th
Last Friday, the 13th of December, I underwent a PET scan at Florida Cancer Specialists. This scan will reveal cancer cells location and tell us if it has spread. I’ll get the results on Friday the 20th and begin chemotherapy immediately, like the next hour.
Meanwhile, this Wednesday they will surgically implant a port in my chest to make it easier to inject the chemicals.
My doctor knows I am impatient. At our first meeting I half-joking asked if he could just give me a shot and cut it out. He said “We could do this fast or we could do this right.” So, as fast as they can carefully go, this week has come soon enough.
Sunday, December 15.
My brother-in-law Wayne suggested I eat all my favorite foods this week because chemotherapy can destroy taste buds. I feel like I have four “last meals” for dinner this week because chemotherapy begins Friday morning.
After church today we went to Iguana Mia for their Sunday special of Huevos Rancheros: Fried eggs layered with cheese, tortillas, salsa, refried black beans, and bacon.
Today’s 79 degrees with a cool breeze was perfect for gardening. I pulled weeds and planted out Nicotianas. Then trimmed some overgrown Fire Bushes in the backyard. As I tied up the branches and dragged them to the curb I had to think of gardening friends I might need to call on to help me with these chores soon. I’ve heard that chemotherapy makes you weak and tired.
I usually wear hats just outdoors but maybe more often if my hair falls out. Thanks to Sheila H. and family for this gift to cover my gourd.
At first I could not think of anyone I know who has survived cancer. But after posting “I have a lump” on Facebook, one friend revealed her bout with cancer. I gratefully and desperately asked her questions about her experience. She gave me straight answers and hope. I hope if someone else out there has a similar, urgent need, they will know they are not alone by reading about someone else’s struggles.
Lumpy Bob 