Dearest Angels,
I think I've forgotten to mention how much I love, cherish, and adore you all. I'm kinda off my game, so my bad; please forgive me.
In keeping with updating you, and leaving no stone unturned, I'll be a tad graphic here. As always, let me know if it's too much. I just enjoy the idea of you being with me on this 'journey'. I have a couple of photos to add in a bit, that I thought were kinda interesting. Nothing too revealing or disturbing, I don't think so anyway,
I woke up about 9 am this morning, after a good three hours of sleep (a major improvement over my normal one or so), but with pretty heavy pain in the chest and head, I mused to myself that I must have taken the wrong pain medicine and taken the one that triples the pain, as opposed to one that lessens it. Mental games like that give me the power to accept and "manage" my pain. Dexamethasone is what they prescribe, and it is designed to keep the inflammation and swelling down in this brain lesion, as well as helping my general discomfort issues as well. It helps quite a bit, now that I've saturated my system with it over time, but the occipital neuralgia (unrelated to cancer) is intense sometimes. During my biopsy, in mid-October, my head was tilted back (in the same way a sword swallower avoids slicing up his esophagus) to access the chest mass via a bronchoscopy The forty-five-minute procedure caused a nerve on the upper right part of the spinal cord to be compressed for that length of time, and according to my thorough study, and experience with a back disk injury about forty years ago, I have about 18 months before it will heal completely. I'd call it a major pain in the ass, but it's much higher than that. After a couple of hours of OTC meds, breathing medicine, etc., I am usually good for a while. I don't dare talk much physically, but typing/writing is a joy for me and therapeutic.
I got the call yesterday. Tomorrow, at 7:00 am beings my radiosurgery on the brain. My head will be locked tight in a mask to absolutely minimize healthy brain tissue being zapped. This is so state-of-the-art that my Proton Therapy Team is standing in the wings, with absolute trust in the procedure. I'll consult with the neurologist first, then the radiologist (I love these guys, as I've indicated already) then have about twenty minutes of prep and zap. By afternoon, if I'm up for it, I'll have some observations about what I've been through, that I'll be happy to share. Monday at nine will be treatment two, then the day after Christmas will be the final in this series. They will continue to watch for any changes and are prepared to do whatever it takes, although they are more than a little confident that nothing irreversible will occur. It's assumed that short term memory, a patch of hair or so, and taste and smell may be temporarily affected, but even that appears to be more possible than probable, according to their expert opinion. I'm cool with it. I even got the impression that as they check me periodically, they will be letting the body itself dispose of the dead tissue as opposed to surgically removing the remnant. I'll, of course, get that one clarified. After the brain tumor is dealt with, I being the full tilt chemo cocktail of three chemicals, every three weeks or so. Dr. Blakely, the medical oncologist, used a metaphor dear to my heart when she told me that one of the chemicals was 'targeted chemo' specifically used in attacking this particular cancer (adenocarcinoma a/k/a Non-small cell lung cancer) and was designed to strip the "Utterback Team Jersey" off of the cancer cells so that the gangs of white cells could recognize them as the invaders and impostors they are, and kick them out of the stadium. Go, team!
I'm not actually totally clear as to whether or not Proton Therapy is still even on the agenda, but will find out very soon; probably tomorrow at least to some degree. I'm including a pic of my chest all "bullsyed" up with marks they put on me for max precision. In the first photo, you can see the new portacath, but I'm including a more detailed pic, too. The portacath resembled (to me, at least) a little tom-tom drum with a ten or twelve-inch catheter. Since they don't actually put you "under", I felt him take his scalpel and slice my neck open for insertion, and then kinda forcefully push it in place. I now have first-hand experience with how Fentonyl became Michael Jackson's drug of choice. My sedation was a mix of that and an antibiotic and I not only didn't really feel any pain, but I also didn't really give a crap. I was kind of in la-la land when they fed the catheter down the vein and don't even recall it (not the jugular, but one nearby), but it hurt like hell for a couple of days afterward. Today, all is healed and relatively ready for use, I think.
No matter how sick I may get from this chemo, I'm greatly anticipating the end of this chest mass having full sway with me. Since I love metaphor and imagery, let me put it this way: I often feel like a claw (the size of a person's hand) is gripping my chest without quite breaking the skin, but still causing heavy pain. If it is followed by a coughing spasm, which happens often, the pain is increased in the chest and then added to by the neuralgic pain in my forehead. It's a huge challenge, is what I'm saying. So, if you have any morphine handy, you know what to get me for Christmas.
Here is that photo of the chest and side markings that the Proton Therapy Team marked me with:
And here's the closeup of my portacath:
See you in the funny pages!
Love and Blessings,
Ken
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