February 20, 2020 - Chapter Eight, Part #1 Story of Ken

Good Day, Angels. As a quick reminder, if you are receiving this email you are one of the many angels that I believe have been placed in my life for the benefit of all of us. I just wanted to share that again.

I'm still a little tired, from lack of sleep, but I thought I'd send a recap of my first experience with chemotherapy. The pain in my chest just kept me up last night and I got about 3½ hours of sleep. It isn't the first time I've had to make do on little sleep, and so it wasn't unfamiliar territory. Tonight, after a two-hour nap, I'm still feeling what I would call exceptionally normal, especially considering the ordeal of getting more than a handful of bags of chemicals put in my body. More on that in a minute.

The treatment room was more like a huge 'salon', with 16 or 18 recliners spaced respectfully apart. Each of about ten of us was assigned a nurse for the length of their treatment and the one assigned to me, Hailey, was a genuine dear. (as were they all, actually) Dr. Blakely was said to be pretty busy, so she had an assistant, Sarah (who is an NP) see me and do a quick physical and respond to some of my questions and tell me about the lab info from the blood draw that they had taken shortly before. I was good to go.

Then, as Hailey was preparing to hook me up to the first chemical (one that takes the calcium out of the blood and puts it into the bones) she gave me a couple of information sheets about the drug. Shortly after the explanation, she went away (to get the bag, I thought) and came back with new sheets. It seems that BCBS of TN denied the first drug (which it turned out would have been administered by injection) but prefers a second one, which actually does the same thing and is administered via the drip technique. We still had to wait for a short while for them to put their okay on it, even though they were the ones that had the preference for it. Insurance companies.....sheesh. After sitting there for about a half-hour or so, Hailey came back, explained the new info sheets and hooked up a bag with the preferred chemical. "NOW we're moving", I thought almost out loud.

When Hailey hooked me up, it was to an actual machine that pumps exactly the desired amount calculated to work on me and takes exactly the amount of time they want it to. Very precision. No more using little plastic gateway clips to approximate this procedure. I was duly impressed and asked a few questions. I also mentioned that the pain in my chest had kept me up most of the night and that I had brought some Tylenol with me unless they preferred to give me some from their supplies. She said she'd check on it with the doctor.

The chemical took about 1/2 hour, which would take me to about a half-hour before I had scheduled my Tylenol. I keep a little log book for safety's sake. After the machine alerted her that it was done, she started a one-hour bag of an immunotherapy boosting drug. I'm learning a lot as we move forward; I read the literature and ask questions. At about 10 am I told her I was now feeling the pain enough to remind me of my regular dose of Tylenol, so she came back in a couple of minutes, flushed the portacath line with saline for a minute, and then administered some pain killer. I'm familiar with Dilaudid, from my pancreatitis attack in 2011, so I expected instant relief and euphoria, but it must have been a very small dose. It worked as good as Tylenol, though, so all was normal in my world. Some things one just doesn't have any control over. I'm cool with that.

The next four bags followed an injection in my abdomen. (the literature had said 'stomach', which painted an unpleasant picture in my mind) Fortunately, it stung for a moment and that was it. The drug was an anti-nausea medication that lasts up to five days. I'll be the judge of that. The next four bags started with a combination of a steroid and an antihistamine, as I recall. They made sure I had a driver since the antihistamine can cause drowsiness. While my brother Steve lives with me, that's not a problem and they have his number. He's also listed as my emergency contact.

After that bag was emptied, I had the 3 bags which comprised the 'chemo cocktail', as I call it. They are all chosen to chase down any errant cancer cells no matter where in the body they may have migrated to. I'm also told they will shortly take care of the pain and discomfort. Again, I'll be the judge. I'm not being cynical here, but each of our bodies is unique. I'm hopeful, as usual, since that leaning seems to be embedded in my makeup. There's a trust I can't explain, and I think it's born of Gratitude.

All through the six-hour session, I would see doctor Blakely (Laura Johnetta Blakely, known as L. Johnetta or just Johnetta) come in with other patients who were scheduled for treatment. (mine was a longer session than most, and stations were left vacant after only an hour or two mostly) I'd always look up, and after she had directed them to their spot and she was leaving she would smile at me with sparkling eyes and ask how I was doing. I would respond in an upbeat way, and even ask her how she was doing, to which she'd reply, "Livin' the Dream", and keep walking. She's not as "pretty" as many of the other doctors and nurses, but she's very attractive to me in a tomboyish kinda way. So, this thought entered my mind that since doctors have to avoid getting attached to patients who might end up dying on them, she turned me over to Sarah because she's falling for me. Ever since I saw her one Friday late, dressed in blue jeans, I've probably been sending unseen but palpable signals, I guessed, and I must have started some sort of synergy. 

Now, after you've had your laugh (my intent), know this:  I'm a singer/songwriter/musician/artist and love my daydreams and fantasies...they're as natural for me as breathing. They ♪♫get me through the night♫♪ (or day, in this case). I just couldn't resist sharing that one with you. {I still think Johnetta is way hot, though)

Even though my sense of humor is intact, and I have enough energy to sit down and write a long missive-type email, I'm not pumped up the way they predicted I would be from the steroid. (dexamethasone) In fact, they predict that on Day 3 (Saturday) I will crash off the steroid and not wanna get out of bed. I guess we'll see. Heck, I'm on for the ride, right?

If you actually took the time to read this entire update, thank you. I appreciate the opportunity to both share, as I've promised I would, and work on my writing skills. I still have two books on the back-burner.

I am grateful for all the emails I get reminding me of the prayers, love, light, positive energy, support, and compassion that's being sent my way on a regular basis. Quite a number have gone so far as to say that my strength impresses and even moves them to emulate this in their daily lives and life struggles. I couldn't be more honored and glad.

Stay happy and be well,

Ken

February 13, 2020 - Chapter 7, Part #1 Story of Ken

Good Morning, Angels.

I decided to go ahead and continue using the week of my update as the "chapter" and the entry for that week as the "part", hopefully, to keep these emails organized. Perhaps this is more for just me, but it may aid in searching for specific information. That's my excuse, and I'm sticking to it.

I don't think I have yet mentioned that all insurance companies have resolved any issues that were slowing up the works, but in essence, that is what has happened. I'm glad to say that there are no current insurance problems that involve any waiting for treatment or testing. This makes it easier for me to just follow a schedule and make more definitive plans. 

Today was the day of my latest MRI of the brain, which was ordered over six weeks ago for the purpose of checking to see if any cancer had returned to the brain and to check the status of the lesion that had been zapped with radiosurgery during the three sessions around Christmas. The results were positive in both regards. The lesion continues to shrink, indicating that they destroyed the cancer cells and that the body is ridding itself of the residue. Other than that, there is no evidence whatsoever that the brain has any new incidents of metastasis. No evidence of cancer in the brain at all. The neurosurgeon was pleased, and I have to admit I took it as great news.

If you ever have an MRI, I have a little advice for you. If they give you little sponge-like earplugs to dampen the noise, shove them as deeply into your ear canals as you comfortably can. I didn't do that on the right side and had to deal with a little more volume than necessary. I suppose I could say that luckily I'm used to loud music over the course of my life and it wasn't too much to bear. Still, the noise wasn't music per se. That is unless you consider outer-space like sounds to be music. Actually, I ended up playing with the sounds in my head and finding the musical patterns, thus keeping myself distracted enough to make it through the twenty-plus minutes of the machine sounds.

In the past six months, I've had many injections of dye, contrast, and radioactive substances injected in me for all the tests of this type, and there are more than just a handful. So, I have taken to drinking about two gallons of water a day to facilitate the flushing of my system. Everything I understand is that it's a good practice anyway, and I am certainly one hydrated individual.

Next Thursday, I'm going in to start the aggressive chemotherapy that has been continually postponed during all these delays, starting with the surprise brain issue and continuing with the insurance issues. Nothing appears to stand in the way anymore. I'll continue to keep my loved ones (you, whom I call my angels) apprised of the process and such. I'm hoping my stamina will help me tolerate this part of the story. It's necessary, in any case, since the cancer has already shown itself to migrate to other parts of the body.

Thanks for your continued support, prayers, good vibes, light, and Love. I'm one grateful son-of-a-gun.

Love genuinely,

Ken

February 6, 2020 - Chapter 6, Part #1 Story of Ken

Good evening, Angels.

Yesterday, I got a call in the late afternoon from the radiology department at St. Thomas. There evidently was a glitch with the insurance company confusing some information, and I was asked to call this morning to verify that the problem was resolved before I came down. (it's about a one hour drive from my house) My reaction, though not all that emotionally charged, was so immediate that I had no resistance to the thought, "Well....here we go...." That makes three insurance company snafus in one week.

So late this morning, I started calling and began getting an automated message that all the phone lines were tied up (or something like that) and later just started getting a busy signal. Finally, I called the neurologist's office to see if they could get through to radiology and find out if we were all still on schedule. I was to get an MRI, and then a couple of hours later see the neurologist to discuss their findings. A very helpful gal, and one I had personally seen 'work magic' with the system, took my problem on and told me she'd call back once she found out something. A short while later, it was confirmed that the insurance issue had not been resolved. We scheduled the two visits for next Thursday and I went back to my daily routine, after making sure I had noted the new date and time for the appointments. Within an hour, the radiology department called to tell me that everything had been straightened out and we could reschedule however I wanted. I told her that it was a done deal (for next Thursday) and thanked her for letting me know so quickly. She checked the computer and saw the new appointments, confirmed them, and thanked me for my time and patience.

What I'm discovering, is that all these people are kind, gracious, helpful, and I might even add compassionate. They are like you and me; they work (most of us, anyway) for an organization much bigger than ourselves and too often get caught in the middle--left and right--trying to help people wade through what often appears to be unnecessary bureaucratic red tape. They are doing their very best, most of them, and I actually feel sorry that they are put in that position. I guess their compassion has infected me, yes?

So, we're down to two insurance companies tying up loose ends (or whatever it is) and I'm at least scheduled for next Thursday, the 13th, for an MRI of the brain, and a consultation with the neurologist to discuss the findings. I suspect as things fall into place, that the information will come in handy once I see the medical oncologist and start the chemotherapy. It appears that way, in any case, since the major concern is metastasis.

Thanks for being in my life, checking up on me (as many do), and allowing me to practice my writing. I enjoy this, much as writing about delays kinda makes it harder to be upbeat and cheerful. As Robert Plant sang, "But I'll just keep a-rollin' along with the Grace from the Lord up above."

See you in the funny pages, Angels. 

Love and Blessings,

Ken

Ken