Lazarus has Risen or Relentlessly Optimistic

I have been writing a lot of this blog in my head during the day. That’s what writers do, right? They just write stuff in their head? Fuck if I know.

Anyways, I have been thinking a lot about what I want to say to you all following my last post. The truth is that I still don’t know. I honestly don’t really feel like writing that much right now either, but my son is sleeping, my husband is doing work, and there is nothing I feel like watching on TV.

So here we are, dear readers. On Tuesday I had chemotherapy. It was pretty uneventful. Or as uneventful as getting toxic poison pumped into your veins can be. I had noticed a new nodule on my forehead last weekend. It is a hard, fixed, non-mobile, pea shaped nodule. I am certain that it is new. Of course, I am concerned it is further mets of my cancer. I mentioned it to the nurse practitioner, whom I saw on Tuesday and she basically said well it’s not going to change what we are going to do, so we will just keep an eye on it.

Gee, thanks. That makes me feel reassured. No scan. No biopsy. Just wait and see. Honestly, though, whatever.

Alright, so Tuesday I had chemo and my concerning nodule was brushed off and then Wednesday I had 1.2 liters of fluid drained from my lung. I had called my oncologist’s office the week prior to ask if I could have the fluid in my lung drained on the same day as chemo, so I wouldn’t have to make an extra trip. My breathing was starting to get really rough. I would get short of breath going up a flight of stairs with my son. If I laid on my right side I felt like I was suffocating. My coughing spells were becoming relentless. My oncologist’s nurse, who I think is wonderful said she would do her best to make an appointment for that same day.

She was unable to, though. So she made it for the day after. I went to see the doctor and he asked if I wanted a pleurex catheter, where they suture in a drain so you can empty the fluid from your lung at home, or if I wanted a pleurodesis, which is a surgical operation to hopefully prevent my lung from refilling with fluid.

I didn’t want either of those procedures! I just wanted them to stick a needle in my lung and drain the fluid out and be on my merry way. “Oh, well we don’t do that at this office.” The thoracic surgeon, who I had been scheduled with, said. Try not to be too proud of me, but I did not swear you guys. I probably looked like I was going to cry though. I really needed to be able to breathe again.

Apparently there is a whole other office that does thoracenteses, or draining of the pleural space, all day Monday through Friday. They take same day appointments. The thoracic surgeon called that office and got me an appointment 2 hours after my appointment with him had been scheduled for.

You guys, this inefficiency happens at the Cleveland Clinic! It is one of the best medical systems in the country! My point actually wasn’t to complain about this annoying day, though. I mean it sucked and it was exhausting, but whatever. Par for the course at this point, to be honest.

I got my lung drained, 1.2 L. I was in agonizing and excruciating pain every time I took a deep breath for the following 48 hours. So that was fun. In an opposite kind of way. Fortunately, I had leftover painkillers from my prior surgeries and used those to survive the pain. I basically slept those entire two days. I couldn’t take care of my son, I could barely do anything.

My mother in law watched my son Tuesday through Thursday and then Friday I went back to taking care of him. Although, my husband literally sat at the kitchen table with his laptop and did work all day there in case I needed any help – which I did.

By Saturday I felt back to normal. I had energy again and I was only in a tolerable amount of pain with deep breaths. My cough has also already returned and I can feel that I cannot breathe as deeply as I could after the procedure.

I probably will need to get that procedure again sometime this week. Does this mean the chemo isn’t working? I don’t know. It’s honestly too soon to tell. Apparently you need a couple months to see if the treatment is having any effect. I’m not too optimistic with this new nodule on my forehead, but there is really no way to know at this point.

Here is what I do know, though. It felt like I did not exist in my life for 2 days. It probably felt more like that to my husband. And, then on Saturday, I felt fine again. Well, as fine as one can feel with some amount of fluid compressing one’s lung. It was like I had come back from the dead. Both my husband and I felt like that was what happened. Like lazarus, I had risen. I mean obviously, no. I wasn’t dead. I was just exhausted and on pain meds. But, you get the point. It’s a metaphor, you guys!

You all can also probably tell from the tone of this post that I am not in the best place emotionally. I am definitely not super hopeful. But, at the same time there is this pesky, incessant part of me that keeps thinking, well maybe this treatment will work. Maybe. It is a soft whisper, but it is there.

As defeated as I feel, there is still a part of me that is relentlessly optimistic. Also, the fact that I am aware of my prognosis does not mean that I won’t do everything in my power to live. I am still pursuing aggressive treatment and I plan to do so until no doctor in their right mind would continue giving me chemotherapy. I will try to live for as long as it is physically possible.

So that is where we are dear readers. Until next time. Love and light to you all.