It's now two weeks since I started my new treatment. Briefly,
Days 1 to 5 - I took the chemo pills, along with anti-nausea pills. Things were fine: I was tired, but not as much as when I was taking immunotherapy last year.
Day 6 - a rash appeared all over my body. Fortunately it didn't itch too badly.
Day 8 - started having headaches. Not too bad, but enough that I lost interest in reading and couldn't use the computer much.
Day 11 - headaches finally went away for good. Rash began fading.
Day 14 - a visual "aura" (zigzag lines) gradually appeared in my left eye. Cleared up after 20 minutes.
Day 16 - feeling pretty good, energy level is way up. No side-effects. Accordion playing has improved :)
Wednesday, April 29, 2009
Monday, April 20, 2009
Hope is an Accordion
My children think it's funny, my wife suspects a mid-life crisis, my friends won't understand, but... I'm going to take accordion lessons. After you've finished laughing, read on.
First of all, banish the image of jolly Herr Braun delighting the beerhall with another rousing polka. Picture instead the beret-clad Lebrun in a basement café off the Boul' Mich, the crowd falling silent as he begins La vie en rose...
Actually, I think the seeds of this idea were really planted 20 years ago, by the John Cougar Mellencamp song Cherry Bomb. That's more what I'm aiming at. I already use synthesized accordion sounds from time to time with the worship band at church, and I think it would be fun to play them live. Not to mention having a instrument that's portable and doesn't need to be plugged in!
Seriously, though, the real significance of all this is the renewal of hope. When I began my sick leave, last July, I thought had the idea of learning accordion as a way to fill the time, but I never had the energy for it. Then in January, when I learned that my cancer had come back, I gave up on it. What's the point of investing your last months on earth in acquiring a new skill?
Now, however, I'm feeling much better, and the prayers and encouragement of so many friends have helped me to believe I will be healed. It seems like this is my chance to do it. I've rented the instrument, found a teacher, and my lessons start in two days.
So, hope is an accordion - at least it isn't bagpipes!
(My apologies to bagpipe players, polka enthusiasts, and those who will have to listen to me practise.)
First of all, banish the image of jolly Herr Braun delighting the beerhall with another rousing polka. Picture instead the beret-clad Lebrun in a basement café off the Boul' Mich, the crowd falling silent as he begins La vie en rose...
Actually, I think the seeds of this idea were really planted 20 years ago, by the John Cougar Mellencamp song Cherry Bomb. That's more what I'm aiming at. I already use synthesized accordion sounds from time to time with the worship band at church, and I think it would be fun to play them live. Not to mention having a instrument that's portable and doesn't need to be plugged in!
Seriously, though, the real significance of all this is the renewal of hope. When I began my sick leave, last July, I thought had the idea of learning accordion as a way to fill the time, but I never had the energy for it. Then in January, when I learned that my cancer had come back, I gave up on it. What's the point of investing your last months on earth in acquiring a new skill?
Now, however, I'm feeling much better, and the prayers and encouragement of so many friends have helped me to believe I will be healed. It seems like this is my chance to do it. I've rented the instrument, found a teacher, and my lessons start in two days.
So, hope is an accordion - at least it isn't bagpipes!
(My apologies to bagpipe players, polka enthusiasts, and those who will have to listen to me practise.)
Tuesday, April 14, 2009
Chemo
Sunday night I started my new chemotherapy treatment. I have to take two pills a day for the first 5 days of every 28 day cycle. I'm glad it's covered by insurance: the two pills are very expensive. In fact, for the amount they cost I'd expect them to be the size of grapefruit, but they're only slightly larger than the other pills I take.
Because the chemo may cause nausea and vomiting, I also have some anti-nausea pills marked "take as required." What exactly does this mean? Since the anti-nausea pills take an hour to work, how am I supposed to know that I'm going to be sick in about an hour? Furthermore, I'm supposed to take the chemo pills on an empty stomach and the anti-nausea pills with meals!
After consulting with my doctor wife, I decided just take the chemo and see what would happen. It seems they weren't kidding: at 3:30 AM, feeling slightly sick to my stomach, I took the anti-nausea pills. Fifteen minutes later I threw up for the first time. I then proceeded to throw up every 15 minutes for the next hour.
Monday night I took my anti-nausea pill when I went to bed, and passed a peaceful night. Furthermore, neither of the pills seem to cause me problems the following day, so things are going well. Three cycles and then I have another scan to see if it's working!
Because the chemo may cause nausea and vomiting, I also have some anti-nausea pills marked "take as required." What exactly does this mean? Since the anti-nausea pills take an hour to work, how am I supposed to know that I'm going to be sick in about an hour? Furthermore, I'm supposed to take the chemo pills on an empty stomach and the anti-nausea pills with meals!
After consulting with my doctor wife, I decided just take the chemo and see what would happen. It seems they weren't kidding: at 3:30 AM, feeling slightly sick to my stomach, I took the anti-nausea pills. Fifteen minutes later I threw up for the first time. I then proceeded to throw up every 15 minutes for the next hour.
Monday night I took my anti-nausea pill when I went to bed, and passed a peaceful night. Furthermore, neither of the pills seem to cause me problems the following day, so things are going well. Three cycles and then I have another scan to see if it's working!
He is Risen
A few people have told me they think I'm courageous for the way I'm facing a potentially life-threatening cancer. I don't feel courageous; I probably just lack the imagination to really believe that anything that bad could happen to me.
Yet underneath it all, I do have the firm conviction that if the worst happens and this cancer kills me, I will simply wake up in the presence my wonderful Saviour. Jesus has already gone ahead of me, from life, through death, to life eternal.
This is the triumph of Easter: our greatest hero has beaten our worst enemy.
Yet underneath it all, I do have the firm conviction that if the worst happens and this cancer kills me, I will simply wake up in the presence my wonderful Saviour. Jesus has already gone ahead of me, from life, through death, to life eternal.
This is the triumph of Easter: our greatest hero has beaten our worst enemy.
"Where, O death, is your victory?
Where, O death, is your sting?"
The sting of death is sin, and the power of sin is the law. But thanks be to God! He gives us the victory through our Lord Jesus Christ.
(1 Cor 15:55-57 NIV)
Wednesday, April 1, 2009
So Far, So Good
Today, I got the results from the CAT scan I had last week. Good news: the marks on my liver that showed up on January's scan have actually diminished in size, and the two on my lung appear merely to be small scars. This means that I only have one tumour, the one that was treated with radiotherapy.
This also means that I will be taking chemotherapy with Temodal, a drug which is taken orally for 5 days out of each 28-day cycle. The side-effects are relatively mild: nausea and possibly vomiting, and can be treated by other medication. Because it is taken orally, I won't need to be hospitalized, which is a relief, not just for me but for the whole family.
After three months, I'll have another scan to see if the tumour is responding to the treatment (either shrinking or at least not growing).
This also means that I will be taking chemotherapy with Temodal, a drug which is taken orally for 5 days out of each 28-day cycle. The side-effects are relatively mild: nausea and possibly vomiting, and can be treated by other medication. Because it is taken orally, I won't need to be hospitalized, which is a relief, not just for me but for the whole family.
After three months, I'll have another scan to see if the tumour is responding to the treatment (either shrinking or at least not growing).
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