HERE WE GO...

Okay so here's the deal.  I never received a call from my doctor and I was too much of a chicken to call him.  So after almost a week of relentless butt kicking by my own imagination I learned yesterday during a doctor's visit at Virginia Mason, that my liver did not show more cancer but instead an infection.  You should have seen my face when Dr. Picozzi stopped talking.  I turned to my friend, Deborah, and squealed (yes, literally), at the same time she did, It's an infection!  Yes, a happy, jubilant infection!!  My doctor called in a prescription for a couple of antibiotics to be taken over the next 14 days and then sent us on to radiology in the basement to get the 411 on the next step.  I was so happy to be moving on to a next step.  Although my doctor assured me my elation would be short-lived once embarking on the next phase of my journey.

In the elevator, Deborah and I were smiling like teenagers on a first date.  I wanted to yell out with glee, I HAVE AN INFECTION! but I didn't know how that would go over with the other folks in the elevator, so I just kept it in my head and smiled.  It didn't take long for my smile to turn.  The radiologist was not shy about delivering the gloom and doom associated with this obviously grueling treatment called Virginia Mason Protocol, which I mentioned in another post.  Apparently it involves 3 not 2 chemo poisons: one of them three times a week delivered by a needle in the arm, another delivered via my port by automatic hourly injection and another on Wednesday -- an all day affair with hydration first and then infusion.  On top of all that radiation 5 days a week.  This par-tay will commence over a 5 1/2 week period after I finish off the antibiotics.

The radiologist wanted to make sure I was adequately prepared and that my family life was in tact, in order to handle what would be required to get me to and from treatments.  She also wanted to make sure someone was with me at all times, as side affects from treatment could be severe, for instance, extreme fatigue, infection, diarrhea, dehydration, nausea...yada, yada.  I told her I was still working on a plan because I lived an hours drive from the hospital. Deborah, who lives only about 15 minutes from the hospital, told the doctor I'd be staying with her and her family in that firm this-is-how-it's-going-to-be tone.  Did I mention my dear friend is Italian, from Jersey, with a heart bigger than the universe, and very bossy when she cares about someone or something?  My problem is pride, and I don't want to be an imposition or burden on anybody, but it is a fact that my family at this time, is not in a position to get me through this without outside help.  I am blessed, no doubt, to have friends and family who through a combined effort, are willing to carry me through this terrible phase of my life.  I'm grateful, I really am.

To the best that I can, I will keep updates on my blog during the next round of therapy for my pancreas.  The next phase will be the breast cancer issue.  More on that much, much later.  One cancer at a time.  Right?  Right.



“However mean your life is, meet it and live it.”
― Henry David Thoreau