Cancer Selfies

VLog: July 29, 2023

A 1% chance of death is a terrifyingly high chance

VLog: July 28, 2023

The brain fog is real

VLog: July 27, 2023

Introducing Thomasin! (she purrs)

VLog: July 26, 2023

In addition to appendex cancer, I also have bipolar (II) disorder and boy howdy is that a combination

VLog: July 25, 2023

Midland is boring, there are lots of appointments, pizza is great

VLog: July 24, 2023

I visited Mt. Sinai for a surgical followup (things are going great)

Return to Mt. Sinai

Today I made the journey to Toronto, to return to Mt. Sinai for what I hoped to be the final time, I had a followup appointment with the surgeon who preformed my aborted HIPEC surgery.

The surgeons were very happy with how my incision was healing. My home care nurse in Elliot Lake had been updating my surgeon, so it wasn't too surprising, but it's still great news. The area that seperated, that is still healing, is where my belly button was. My belly button was removed during the surgery (the only cancer that was removed), so there was some lost skin here. I hadn't made the connection, hadn't realized that I was missing skin, and this allows me to cease worrying that I could have done more for healing. I also hadn't figured that the belly button was the source of my pain all last year, so when pain returns, it can't be the same source.

I no longer have any physical activity limits. I can work my way up to any sorts of exercises I'd want to do (weight lifting would still be out, but I've never had interest). I was told that what I really want to do, gradually increasing my walking endurance, is exactly the sort of thing I should be doing. Which is fantastic, I'd love to recover some strength and a lot of endurance before I restart chemo, which is going to hurt both of those things. I should have a chemo rest period before the cold weather sets in, so I can recover more, but I remember how cold I was all winter, that will be a season of atrophy (I have Ring Fit Adventure for Switch, which I hope will help mitigate the winter losses).

This week I have to get a CT scan, and ensure its summertime hot flash, and visit the cancer centre at the Royal Victoria Regional Health Centre in Barrie, and then next Thursday I meet with my medical oncologist in person to discus the results and come up with our Summer/Fall treatment plan. My surgeon thinks that if we can afford to delay (the CT scan shows minimal change from the CT scan I had back in March at the end of my second round of chemo), we should allow the incision another few weeks to heal, but that it's healed enough that we could start chemo sooner. That's ultimately a question that only the medical oncologist can answer, and while I have some say in the matter, I fully intend to defer to her.

From the comments

James Petrosky: As is traditional when non-Torontonians from rural Ontario visit Toronto, we got food that's hard to get in Midland (dim sum, in this case) and took a stroll in a walkable neighbourhood with fun stores (Chinatown, it's almost always Chinatown, especially because it's minutes from the hospital). We stopped at a Chinese bakery, many bbq pork buns were enjoyed (also a good selection of other tasty treats, but the pork is my favourite)

I really wanted to visit the Art Gallary of Ontario, Couch Monster is just outside the AGO), but the 600m walk from the hospital to the AGO took a lot out of me. But there will be future trips, hopefully planned far enough in advance that I can invite others.

VLog: July 23, 2023

From now on, I'm displaying my PICC as well as I can.

VLog: July 22, 2023

Half in Elliot Lake, half in Balm Beach. Either way, I look exhausted and have intestinal distress.

VLog: July 21, 2023

Last day in Elliot Lake, tomorrow I travel home (and get to see my cat)

VLog: July 20, 2023

Gang, I'm dying, and all I've got is paliative chemotherapy.

VLog: July 19, 2023

The weather is nice in Elliot Lake, and I have decided that I'm not cutting my hair again.

VLog: July 18, 2023

There's not a lot to do in Elliot Lake when you're recovering from surgery.

VLog: Introduction

A short video catch-up on my situation, intended for people who haven't been following me the whole time.

About accents

Demonstrating a little bit of Northern Ontarian accent. Poorly.

(aboot vs about vs aboat)

The bottle is gone

Cycle 1, Day 3

The chemo bottle has been removed. It was good to get out of the apartment, and I'm going to need to balance getting out with how low I feel on days 1-3. I wasn't going to get Tomara, but I take frequent emergency washroom breaks, now, and the mall in Barrie has the cleanest washrooms with the lowest human density (fast food is much much more crowded). Anyways, this charmer called to me and I have poor impulse control.

The next one I'm allowed to get for myself is after the end of the sixth cycle.

I wanted to post more, but my hydro's been out since early this afternoon and I don't have the light to do it. Tomorrow, perhaps.

The first chemo bottle day

Cycle 1, Day 2

I still have my take home bottle of chemo, it'll be removed late tomorrow morning. I'm not sure which of the drugs caused it, but I threw up last night. I've mostly slept since all day, but did get to see my parents before they returned to Northern Ontario for a few days. I had three phone calls (two followup, one scheduled) and I'm exhausted.

From the comments

James Petrosky: The bathroom of a chemotherapy patient is considered potentially hazardous. Other humans can use it so long as they follow a few ground rules, but animals are not allowed in.

Some animals are extremely offended at this

James Petrosky: I tried to capture it, but the lighting wasn't great, the dark blue pouch on my torso attacked to the belt I bought in Peru over a decade ago (and finally found its use) is the chemo bottle. It's a lot less of a pain than I thought it would be, the only slight challenge is keeping Thomasin away from a fun fun springy hose. She's been good, though.

The first visit to the chemo suite

Cycle 1, Day 1

I expected that to be a lot worse.

The night before chemotherapy

Tomorrow is it, day one of my first round of chemotherapy. I'd be lying to you if I said I was okay, or that I was calm, or ready. Because I'm none of those things. I haven't even fully come to terms with my diagnosis. There's been no time, and getting to this point as fast as possible has quite literally been a case of life and death. I'm exhausted, I'm anxious, I can't sleep.

Tomorrow beings answers to important questions like how will I tolerate chemotherapy, what are my side effects going to be like, how careful am I going to have to be.

Tomorrow brings hope. The only way out of this for me is through the cancer centre, through these appointments. It's absolutely terrifying, every single part of this has been terrifying. Every new pain has been the terror of further spread. Every Covid-19 type symptom for months terrified me that I'd delay this process (and now will cause anxiety because I'm about to become immunocompromised). Every single thing that is slightly abnormal is a new horror. And they will all remain horrors, the thing that has replaced university exams or abusive Target liquidation customers as the antagonist of my stress dreams. But, tomorrow, I also to start striking back. And that's not nothing.

PICC install day

The PICC line, for those (like myself) who were unaware, is a line inserted into a vein in my non dominant forearm that extends to the heart. I'm glad I was ignorant until minutes before the procedure, because that is the stuff of nightmares for me, even if the actual result felt, at worst, a bit weird