Cancer Selfies

What dreams may come...

I was fantasizing about going out for bacon and eggs for breakfast until I remembered I can't risk runny eggs for another week into my chemo cycle

Lashing out

Chemo potentially affects all your hair. You don't grasp how much your eyelashes do to keep stuff out of your eyes until they're gone.

From the comments

James Petrosky: Had to pull off the road today (on the way to my chemo disconnect) because I was tearing up so bad. It happens a couple times a day, normally not when I'm driving, though.

Pre-chemo exhaustion

If I refuse to get out of bed, maybe I can call in sick to chemo?

Pre-chemo exhaustion update

I did manage to get to chemo

Talking about poop

I love talking most cancer stuff, but heck do I hate bowel movement stuff. So I'm going to talk about it so I can get over it.

I had a BM around five hours ago, and it still hurts enough that sitting is uncomfortable. My oncologist and nurses are aware, there's nothing to be done for now (asside from pain killers, which I did forget about until just now). This is just my life much of the time now (and has been for weeks).

The cancer in my prostate has spread to my rectum at the time of surgery, June 2023. I have no idea how related that is to my pain, but it certianly plays a role in some of my other plentiful BM problems. At least all the results I got today were neutral-positive.

From the comments

James Petrosky: While I'm here, I've had diharea basically every day since I started chemo in November, probably for a month before but it's just not possible to remember all that. Imodium works, but it's expensive and you've still got to go sometime.

James Petrosky: In the hour after I woke up but before I got up, I had five BMs. They were all uncomfortable and hurt for the next ten minutes. This is the worst I've had, but is pretty normal for late in my chemo cycle these days. Early in the cycle is all chemo diahrea, which I think is as good as it gets now

Maybe this is why geese are known to be so angry...

Exciting new development: goosebumps so intense that they're nearly painful

From the comments

James Petrosky: I'd be okay if it meant the geese would be my friends, but I don't think they'll care about my suffering

Chemo remains difficult, even with magic medicine

Cycle 10, Day 5

Recovery is noticibly harder this time. It's been getting worse over the last few cycles. I don't know if I'm not eating enough, or of the tight foods, but it's Saturday and I'm still in bed (and I forgot to eat today). It's not nausea, thankfully, it's all lower digestive. Those symptoms were rough last time I did chemo, too.

After dinner, during quieter hours, I'll go grocery shopping. I have to eat candies constantly while wearing my mask or I'll risk gagging the whole time. In a day or two that won't be a problem, but for now it's something I have to deal with. It's weird, but there are only two more cycles to go this round, so I'll make it.

Monday is CT scan day. I'll get the report, which I can't really interpret at all, by the end of the week. I'll speak to the oncologist about it on day 14, as we move into the second last cycle.

From the comments

James Petrosky: My hair hasn't started to come back yet, but the facial hair really has. I'll take the small victories, even if the texture is different than it used to be

Moving to Elliot Lake?

Cycle 9, Day 8

For a few months now, I've been taking lorazepam daily to help treat insomnia (no idea the cause of it, chemotherapy and several of my side effect drugs can cause it, and while I don't consciously experience the stress of my situation, it is extremely stressful). Last night I thought I was tired enough to go without. I was not. And, at this stage of disease and chemo, no sleep means nothing gets done in a very literal way.

And I have a lot to do. I've been thinking about moving to Elliot Lake (where my parents live, and much nearer my brothers and extended family) for months now, and now I have an apartment and move in date. Tentatively I'll be moving May 1st. This round of treatment is done on April 9th, which should work out fine. So long as I only spend 4 or 5 days every cycle in bed.

This isn't the reason I wanted to move back home (for a very regional definition of home), but I'm still happy to be doing it.

Video: Ask Me Stuff

Remember literally ten weeks ago when I asked for questions? (No? Why would you!). Anyways, I finally made my video because I'm finally, hopefully, coming out of this depressive episode

The magic anti nausea pill

Cycle 7, Day 6

Throughout this course of treatment, I've reliably spent between 5 and 7 days of my two week chemo cycle throwing up. Taking my as needed medicine got this down from many times a day to a couple, and cannibis use eliminated the problem most nights, but the problem remained: I was regularly being sick, and when you're sick, it's really hard to make yourself eat. Which leads to unwanted weight loss, chills and laying around in bed all the time.

At the start of cycle 6, we slightly reduced my dosage of a few chemotherapy drugs (we aren't trying to prep me for surgery anymore, I'm trying to have as much of a life as I can, so it made sense. We also added an expensive (after drug plan it's still 20$ a dose) anti nausea medicine. And it might as well be magic. I haven't even felt mild nausea in two cycles, almost three weeks. I had a lot more nausea in the months leading up to resuming chemotherapy in November. And with no nausea, I have a desire to eat more and better food, and the energy to actually cook. I have more days I can be out of the house. It's fantastic. I'm glad I can afford the drug, because 20$ is buying a whole lot of quality of life for me right now.

From the comments

James Petrosky: She doesn't look it, but Thomasin was purring through our little photo session. She'd have been happier on my lap, but she's a good sport

Chemotherapy and birthdays

Cycle 6, Day 9

This morning I did laundry. My apartment has no facilities, so I have to go to a laundromat. Because of the plethora of airborne diseases that circulate during the Canadian winter, I wait in my car for the cycles to finish. I've put off laundry since I got back from Christmas because it's been too cold on my non-chemo days, and today was the first positive temperature in weeks. It was time. I finished the chore, but the chill put me in bed for the rest of the day. And I'm still tired from it.

On Friday, I have a CT scan. I think everything I'm feeling is a side effect, not a new symptom, but it's impossible to be sure. I don't want to give false impressions, I fully expect this scan to have results incremental with the last. I'm not particularly stressed about it, and if laundry hadn't taken it all out of me I don't think I'd be worried at all. But eventually one of these is going to show something very bad, and that eventuality cannot be forgotten.

My birthday is next week, and that's always been a pretty mixed day for me, this year impossibly so. Right now I'm scheduled to be finishing up a round of chemo on it, making the whole thing moot, but my neutraphil numbers are getting low, and we might delay the next cycle a week because of it. This'll be the last birthday I am certain to be able to do what I want, so I have unbelievably complicated feelings about it all. I'll find out on Friday, also, what's going to happen.

For now, I'm too tired to really let any of this bother me too much, although it does sap my drive to do much of anything.

From the comments

James Petrosky:

James Petrosky: Oh! There are twelve cycles in my course of treatment, so we're half way! I didn't think to mention it because I know the CT scan means half way, but that isn't universal information

Chemotherapy, even more of the same and worse

Cycle 3, Day 14

It's been a while. I've lost all my hair. Visited the chemo suite a few times. And been significantly more active outside of my apartment than I was last year. It hasn't been easy, and it's been slow going, but we're more than half way to my next CT scan, which is still a major treatment milestone for me. Like last year, it's two groups of six cycles and a CT scan to complete this treatment plan.

I started this treatment plan with some digestive symptoms, a lot of nausea and vomiting, and a mild-medium pain in my right kidney. Digestive problems remain pretty constant, but the cause is chemotherapy, not cancer, now. At this point I can tell pretty easily. I still experience a fair amount of nausea, but it's limited to the treatment part of the cycle, a huge quality of life improvement. My kidney is doing better, and no longer causes discomfort, but will require monitoring for the rest of my life (it's part of my standard bloodwork, though). We're back in the swing of things, the rhythm of treatment is normal again, and it feels as good as this sort of thing can.

From the comments

James Petrosky:

James Petrosky: It's harder for me to talk about things this time around. It's all so normal now. It's cycle three, but it's also cycle twentyish. I don't have anything new or interesting to say about chemotherapy. And we're not working towards something exciting, we're doing it all because it's part of the assumptions that go into the prognosis calculation. It's how I get my year. Which is hugely meaningful to me, and those around me, but it's not sexy like major surgery. Human beings will adjust to anything.

Chemotherapy, the same and worse

Cycle 1, Day 1

Here we go again.

Lots more in suite side effects today. Had to pause treatment a few times. That's happened before, but never this much. I hope it's not a trend.

PICC's gone, though. They pulled all 20 some cm out all at once and I didn't even feel it. Once the access to the port has been removed, after the take home bottle has been removed and I'm through hydration, I can have my first plastic wrap free shower since September 14, 2023.

Hydration is just running saline through the port to help clear remaining chemo drugs from my kidneys. It's fairly a common part of treatment, I was just bouncing back quickly last time so it wasn't necessary.

First surgical date scheduled

Cycle 16, Day 14

This is the face of someone with a surgical date in ten days. I'm scheduled for laparoscopic surgery next Friday, the 28th. This also means that my chemotherapy appointment for tomorrow is cancled, and Cycle 16 might last around a month.

The point of this procedure is to determine if I'm a candidate for the full HIPEC surgery. If I make it by this hurdle, I should get a surgical date sometime this summer. If I don't, depending on the specific reason, that's it. No HIPEC. And HIPEC is the only way out.

Next up is a pre op appointment Thursday.

But, for now, I'm not going to think too much about all that. I bought some pastrami, good buns and my favourite sourkraut (and a case of Coke) to celebrate tonight. Maybe I'll even watch Cats, it's been over a year since I've seen it.

Exhaustion is bad for mortality salience

Cycle 16, Day 12

Gang, I'm so tired. Tired of counting cycles. Tired of the side effects. Tired of living in a sort of constant existential terror.

I took a walk to the beach, roughly 400m, and found myself lightly winded when I got there. Walking back was the same story. I've been doing some basic yardwork, collecting leaves that fell on the patio stones mainly, and after three hours of medium-light labour I'm so exhausted I need a nap. I've never been the most fit person, but even at the peak of my cancer pain on the late summer I was still able to work (medium-heavy labour) fifty hour weeks without wearing myself out. It's a lot to get used to. And to add further insult, my nose has been running constantly for the last month. It's a known side effect, but it's gross and frustrating.

For the sake of my mental health, I need surgical dates to look forward to. I'm hoping I hear something this week

From the comments

James Petrosky: Most of the time I'm pretty comfortable with my mortality, but the anxiety and depression and exhaustion have a way of eroding the peace I've made and found.

James Petrosky: My personal nurse has been a tremendous help, though

Cathy:

So many IVs tried

Cycle 16, Day 1

Today was sort of a comedy of errors. I had some bloodwork done for my lithium, and the technician took two tries to get it right. No big deal, it's never happened to me before, but it happens. My PICC line was clotted, which has happened twice before, but this time it couldn't be cleared by running saline. It was taken care of and works properly again (the blue thing holds my take home chemo, which couldn't happen if it wasn't working) but that means they needed to run a temporary IV for the hospital administered chemo. Friends, it took four tries. I left with two IV bandages on each arm. But I got my treatment, and that's what matters.

From the comments

James Petrosky: Bonus other bullshit I've been up to! The pinkish one is a long finished project, but the purple one is brand new this week. I'm very happy with it

James Petrosky: I also have an ashtray, which runs off batteries. Blue LEDs have a much higher voltage drop than red, so as the batteries run down the mix gets more and more red, and then dims in a really pleasing way. But that doesn't come out in a still photo.

The cycles cary on

Cycle 15, Day 1

I leave for my chemotherapy appointment in a couple hours. It's not going to be too bad, I'll feel like throwing up for three days (but probably won't because the medications are effective), I'll be unable to eat anything but yoghurt and white toast with jam (and I won't want to eat that past the halfway point), and I'll mostly be just awake enough to feel the time pass.

I've developed such a feeling of dread for this. It was easy to motivate myself when the memory of the cancer pain was still fresh. But it's been six months since I felt that pain, six months since all of my symptoms are the direct result of the treatment. I know I need to keep getting treatment, know that I'm in another phase, that things are moving, but I also know that this dread is spreading earlier and earlier into the cycle. I started feeling the anxiety and dread Sunday. It used to only start day of.

The cycles carry on, and they're exhausting.

From the comments

James Petrosky: It doesn't help that my appointment is later in the day than usual today. I just get to sit around, full of worry, burning through the dumb internet nonsense I'd normally enjoy while receiving treatment.

James Petrosky: I clean off my bed for maximum chemo comfort, so I made this adorable pile of cute friends

Toronto Zoo and chemo fatigue

Cycle 13, Day 6

Gang, I hadn't realized how bad my fatigue had gotten until yesterday. In the full summer heat I used to be able to see twice as many exhibits as I did yesterday. It wasn't cold, but I had a chill much of the day. The immediate chemotherapy side effects aren't too bad (but I think they're getting worse), but these slower acting side effects that build cycle after cycle are really draining. Fortunately, the seasons are changing and its getting easier to do things.

From the comments

James Petrosky: Bonus fact no one wanted to know! Pretty much the only hair I have left on my whole body is on top of my head or in my dramatically depleted eyebrows. This fact occupies a lot of my brain time but never comes up and this feels like the place to share.

James Petrosky: Yes this includes eyelashes. Strongly recommend not removing your eyelashes, I get so much more stuff in my eyes now

James Petrosky: Another bonus fact! I adore sea horses. They're one of my favourite animals (most of my favourites are what I like to call "fat rounds" - beavers, wombats, capybara, not long delicate fishies) and I was super happy to be reminded of this statue

A video call with Mt. Sinai

Cycle 9, Day 4

I had an appointment with the surgical oncology team at Mt Sinai this morning and the news is good: they agree that the CT scan results were positive and that we're still on track for the HIPEC surgical option.

I'm on cycle 9, and have three more cycles to go until another CT scan. If the surgical team likes my progress, I'll remain on chemotherapy for as many cycles as it takes to be scheduled for laparoscopic surgery, a major stepping stone on the way to the HIPEC surgery I hope for.

Right now my two biggest fears are that either I fall ill in my immunocompromised state, and miss treatments and get scheduling all screwed up (I've worries about my health more intrinsically, too, but they're not relevant here) and that the ongoing pandemic floods hospitals with patients, and elective surgeries like mine are cancled again. I don't even go through drive through's without an N95 mask on, so at least I'm doing my best to control what little I can.

From the comments

James Petrosky: I included some less positive stuff out of a need to tell a complete story, but this is genuinely good news. The surgical team is a lot more experienced at looking at the specific sort of cancer I have. The medical oncology team at the Royal Victoria Regional Health Centre is extremely skilled, but the way Ontario organizes cancer treatment means that the central institutions have the expertise. So it's confirmation of a thing that was itself confirmation of how I'm feeling, but also tremendously exciting and good news.

Just six to eight more weeks until the next update, which is hopefully more of the same.

James Petrosky: To rain down a bit again, nothing is guaranteed. I'm a good candidate for HIPEC, but that doesn't make it a sure thing. And the surgery itself isn't necessarily curative, and in the vast majority of cases gives the recipient extra time.

I'm choosing to focus on that small curative chance, but I never let myself forget that it's all up to the fates. It's the only way to stay emotionally level.