Rated PG-13 for excessive cursing. I would say I'm sorry, but I'm not. I'm just not. I had a rough weekend. I was inpatient for chemo again. The doc had actually said I could push my treatment back to Monday and have it done outpatient, but I was just talking to my mom, and we are really glad I didn't. Because I probably would've ended up having to be admitted anyways. I vomited Friday night from the chemo, and to be honest, I don't really remember too much of the rest of the weekend. They really must've loaded me up on nausea meds after that. I do remember feeling really sorry for the poor nurse who had to clean up my vom though. I made it to the toilet, but I puked in the pee collection thingy that sits in the toilet too. Oops. Please enjoy this rare sighting of my father playing cards with me. That's when you know he feels bad for me. And this selfie I don't remember taking, featuring one of MANY hats my ever-so-generous and talented friend Emily made for me. Now for the real salt. Let me preface this next part by saying I have absolutely LOVED all of my nurses. Seriously. Like I want them all to be my friends and hang out with me. I wouldn't turn down any marriage proposals from any of them either. And I'd probably take a bullet for most of them. Like I said: love. At Gtown and CHOP, they've all been amazing. And I could never do what they do. Nurses are superheros, and more often than not, I trust their opinions over those of doctors because they are on the font lines and know what actually works and what doesn't. They're awesome.
Now that I cleared that up, let me tell you about this bitch of a nurse I had in the clinic on Friday. And I don't curse lightly. (Although I will admit, it has become much more acceptable to curse in the Tierney household post-cancer diagnosis than it was pre-cancer diagnosis.) Friday morning, I'm suppose to see a different doctor, and therefore nurse, because my doc is out. Nurse Poopy Face brings me back to access my port after a nurse tech has taken my vitals. I tell her I forgot the tube of numbing cream that they normally use before they access my port. While I fully admit it's my fault that I forgot the tube of cream, I was also never required to bring my own cream when I was being treated at Gtown. They always just put it on when I got to the clinic. So. Instead of being like "oh, sweety, lemme get you some of that," this BITCH was like, "We can try it without it this time. Lots of people don't use it." LOTS OF PEOPLE DON'T USE IT?!?! ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME?!?!? Excuuuuuuussseeee me, but have YOU ever gotten YOUR port accessed?!?! Those needles are like 1,534,868,751,354,35,5,867 the thickness of regular shot needles. Not to mention I'm already injecting myself gazillions of times a day with other various needles. I could've slapped her. But what did I do instead? I cried. Obvi. Because it hurt like the bitch she is. (Savage. I know. Just bear with me. I have cancer.) She walked me to another room where I'd see the nurse practitioner and doc. Which is when she noticed my tears. She asked if everything was alright. Obviously not, Ms. Poop Face I Hate You. I said I was "fine" with a heavy dose of go-the-fuck-away in my voice. I hope she never EVER does that to another patient. It's one thing if something's going to hurt. It's another thing if something's going to hurt and something can be done to make it not hurt as much. Or even not at all. But then my dad gave me a hug, and when the nurse practitioner walked in, she told me she was sorry and that this all must "blow chunks." And that helped a bit.
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This week just has not gone according to plan. It's supposed to be my off week during my treatment cycle, aka the week I don't have to go into the hospital. I had to go to the ER last weekend when I got sick, and this past Friday I was admitted again because they found a blood clot during my PET scan. Mood: lightly salted. The doc initially told me I'd be in there until Monday or Tuesday. Thank goodness they found the correct dose of blood thinner quickly, and I was released Saturday. Apparently blot clots are pretty common for people who get ports inserted. When you get a cut, your blood clots to stop you bleeding. When you get a port inserted, it's this weird, plastic, foreign object in your body that shouldn't be there, so your body reacts like it needs to be healed and blood starts clotting to help. That's what happened to me. My friend Mary (the one with the blog) said the same thing happened to her with her picc line. So now I get to give myself shots everyday, twice a day until I'm done treatment and get my port removed. They said they need to be injections and can't give me a pill because if my red blood cell levels drop, I need to be able to stop the drugs immediately. Pills stay in your system for longer. But once I'm finished with the port, they will switch me to a pill until I'm no longer at risk of a blood clot. My friend Olivia was keeping me company in the hospital and ended up driving me home and hanging out for a bit. It sucks being in the hospital when your sick, but at least it makes sense. Being in the hospital when you feel 100% fine just drives you batty! But I do have to be thankful that they found the clot on a routine scan and not because it dislodged and started causing problems. Feel sorry for Lanie because she came straight to the hospital to slumber party it up in the hospital instead of going home to start off her Thanksgiving break. But so thankful for, not just my awesome friends, but my sister's. Shout out to her roomie and teammate Gabby who came to keep the both of us entertained. Because that's what she does best. Plus, she brought lots of awesome snacks! To summarize, let's make a bad news sandwich. The bread: Slice 1 - The cancer has shrunk a lot Slice 2 - My blood clot hasn't caused any problems. The filling: I have a blood clot in my right atrium (don't quote me on the location...I just know it's in my heart, and I'm pretty sure that's what the doc said). Let me try to explain my PET scans in the most technical terms possible: The left shows my most recent scan, and the right shows my first scan from before I had any chemo. The middle white thingy is my heart. On the right, you can see lots of white bubbly things around it. That's cancer. Now see how there aren't white bubbly things on the left! Yay! On the right, you see lots more white bubbly things. Those are cancerous lymph nodes. On the left, they've shrunk to what my doc said are "normal size." This is the same cross section of my chest but in heat map form. The bright yellow things on the right are...you guessed it...CANCER! And on the left, no yellow thingies! Same deal with the yellow but on my neck. And last, but not least...here is my full body scan. The black spots in my neck and chest on the right are cancer. On the left, they're gone! The doc did say that this weird spot under my armpit showed up on this most recent scan. She said that we will keep an eye on it, but it is probably just my lymph nodes reacting to a cut on my hand or something along those lines. What are the other black thingies you ask? I have no effing clue. The top is my brain. No, I don't think my brain is full of cancer. They use a radioactive tracer when you get these scans to indicated where the cancer is, which I know from my very thorough research is affected by sugar. My hypothesis is that your brain uses a lot of sugar, and that's why it lights up like that. As for my stomach, I like eating sugar, so that explains that. But once again, I actually have no clue. The black things in my arms, you ask? No idea. As for the bottom of the photo, my friend Olivia thinks it's my poop. I can't say I disagree with her assessment. I was hesitant to share these scans because I was worried people would input their very professional medical opinions and ask "what's this?" (answer: I have no freaking clue) and "it looks like you're cancer free" (answer: mmmm...probs not, try again). Right now, the doc is saying 1 or 2 more rounds of chemo still and refuses to give me any indication of whether I need radiation. Believe me, I bugged her a lot asking over and over again. Also keep in mind that these are wonderfully professional photos of the actual scans. And by that I mean I took screen shots of these pics my doc sent me. So long story short, I have no clue how much cancer is still there. But if you ask me, the second scan looks a lot better than the first! So I'll take it!
Anywho...Friday night I slept A LOT and woke up Saturday feeling less great. I went to the Reel Rock 13 film festival in Philly with Reggie Mac anyways because she's outdoorsy and awesome, and I like to piggyback off of that. I wasn't feeling too hot, but I was functional. I headed over to Lanie's apartment near Temple to spend the night (*pardon the interruption for a big sis bragging moment* who PR'ed on her 30 min test at the Princeton ID camp earlier that day). The next morning, I was very much not functional. Lanie called my mom who sent my dad to come meet me in Philly as I headed over to the hospital. I arrived in tears partially keeled over from stomach pain. My dad spend the next several hours waiting by my bed as the docs and nurses handed me meds trying to get my nausea under control in between bouts of vomiting and diarrhea. Thanks daddy-o. Just a couple hours ago I was able to eat some soup. It's my mom's birthday, and I would love more than anything to be able to eat some birthday cake to celebrate with her. That'll just have to be put on hold for a little while. Needless to say, it's been a rough couple days.
A funny anecdote: So there's this security guard that you have to check in with before you enter the parking garage at CHOP. There's a big sign posted to make sure cars stop to talk to the guard before entering the garage. We roll up for treatment on Friday and before my dad even gets the chance to put the brakes on all the way, the guard takes one look at my bald head and just yells "YOU'RE GOOD!" while waving us on. Dad laughed so hard. Political thoughts for the shower: Since converting to the bald life, I've become scared of being called transgender. Why is that a fear of mine? Well because I have eyebrows and no hair and could very easily be mistaken for a man. Or someone with female parts that identifies as a man. Because I look like a man. Whatever that means. Because I still have my eyebrows, people might think it's a choice that my head is shaved, especially with my clothing style which Lanie has previously described as obsolete middle school boy. I have to point out that this is definitely more of a fear of mine because of the political climate we live in. I can't imagine living with that kind of fear everyday of my life just existing and being myself. So I came up with a response if someone is a turd and decides to say something rude: 1. My pronouns are she and her. It's so nice of you to ask. 2. My genitalia are none of your business. 3. I have cancer. Look who's the asshole now. Just to clarify. This is not your cue to console me and reassure me that I still look like a woman even though I'm bald. However, this is your cue to treat all your fellow human beings with love and respect. Another blog you should be reading: I'd like to take a moment to direct you to a super awesome blog that one of my dear neighbors and childhood friends has started. She's incredibly cool, and as my mom put it, "she probably saw your blog and thought I can do better than that". Which is almost certainly true. Mary is a super talented writer who suffered a spinal cord injury a little over a year ago and has taught me to say "you, go f*ck yourself" (in our heads, of course) to people who stare at our respective wheelchair and bald head. She also taught me to should use your health problems to your advantage. She convinced her mom to get her a puppy because she had a stroke. I'm still working on my mom... She texted me the most hilarious thing when she found out about my diagnosis: "Maybe this neighborhood is cursed." I just about died of laughter. Anyways, you need to read her blog because: (1) She's a much better writer than me. (2) She has her own domain which is legit. None of this .weebly.com crap. (3) She probably proofreads her work, unlike yours truly. The end. I know it's been awhile. I just got out of my second inpatient treatment and my first treatment at CHOP yesterday. Love my new doc! She is super sweet. Just a refresher on my how my treatment works: Each treatment round is 21 days long (or 3 weeks for those of you who struggle with math). My Day 1 is always a Friday. Week 1: I am admitted into the hospital for 3 days of treatment receiving 6 chemo drugs on the first day, 2 on the second day, and 1 on the third day. Week 2: I am treated outpatient in the clinic and receive 2 chemo drugs. Week 3: No hospital visits assuming everything is going well to allow for my body to recover before starting another treatment round. Summary: I get chemo drugs on Day 1 (Friday), Day 2 (Saturday), Day 3 (Sunday), and 8 (the following Friday) with injections and other drugs self-administered at home sprinkled in between. We arrived around 9:15am to the hospital to check-in after a slight mishap getting a waffle breakfast sandwich from Wawa instead of a bagel. Advice: don't ever go with the waffle. Ew. CHOP is super massive compared to Gtown, but my mom and I were both impressed by how much time the doc spent with me. Everything still felt very personal even with such a large operation going on. My favorite part: THERE ARE SNACK ROOMS! I started my Friday by meeting nurses and the doc. The doc confirmed my medical history and went over how she planned on continuing the same treatment plan that I had started at Gtown. We had to wait awhile for an x-ray to be sent over to CHOP confirming the placement of my port. The mom and I passed the time by playing lots of cards and munching on goldfish, cereal, and milk from the snack room. Once they got the all clear, the nurse accessed me to draw blood work to confirm I was healthy enough to start another round of treatment. They hooked up to a stand and fluids to get all hydrated up in preparation for chemo later on. Then followed more waiting, more cards, more snack, and some sleeping. Blood work came back, and I was then transferred from the doctor's officey part of the clinic to the outpatient chemo-giving part of the clinic. (I'm sure they have fancy names for these places, but you get the gist.) The plan was to start receiving chemo in the outpatient center and then transfer me to a bed when one opened up in the inpatient part of the hospital. By the time the nurse from the doctor's officey part communicated with the chemo outpatienty part and both nurses had talked to the doc, a bed had opened up in the inpatient part of the hospital. And in those few minutes of walking, people witnessed the largest kid they had ever seen wandering the halls of a children's hospital. We got all settled in to my room, met the nurse, and ordered food. CHOP has AMAZING food! What a pleasant surprise after Gtown. Seriously. There was a whole menu packet. I had Build-Your-Own Stir Fry for dinner knowing I might not feel much like eating in the days to come. Unfortunately, I wasn't able to start treatment until about 9pm because they were so busy. Fortunately, me college roomie, Mal, and her fiancé live within spitting distance of CHOP and were able to come and entertain me until I started treatment. Plus they brought donuts. Always a good thing. Overall the whole weekend went really smoothly. The nurses thought I was hilarious (because I am). One of them even said I was a "breath of fresh air." *casual humble brag* My dad and neighbors came to visit on Saturday. Lanie arrived on Saturday too to spent the night with me. I had a grand old time watching TV with her and pretending to help her with her homework. On Sunday, I was discharged at 2pm! Woo! So much better than a midnight discharge from Gtown. My mom and I drove Lanie back to Temple, and then we headed back home. Chemo sucks, but it was a lot more pleasant this weekend being surround by family and friends. You know, those people who you know so well that silent company isn't awkward but rather exactly what the doctor ordered. I described chemo to my dad a few weeks ago as what I imagine wizards feel like in Harry Potter when their souls are being sucked out by dementors. I shared this metaphor with a friend who has another friend going through chemo right now. He said that friend described it as "living life as a turtle without a shell. Scared, lethargic, mostly hairless, unable to defend myself." I would say his description is pretty spot on as well. But treatment was made so much better this week by my loved ones, so thank you. Also on the upside, it also feels like it's my birthday ALL THE TIME because of all of the wonderful cards and gifts and food I've received from people who I know really well, people I don't know that well, people I'm getting to reconnect with, and some people I've never met before. So thank you. To everyone. You've all made this awful experience much, much, MUCH better than it could've been. Rewind: For Halloween, my Godmother came by to hang out and eat pizza. I was so glad I got to see her while I was feeling chipper. Chipper Emma needs company and entertainment arguably even more than boring, sickly Emma. We had a grand time catching up and chatting over candy. That night, I decided I had enough with my hair. I was constantly wearing hats and head coverings just because of the quantity of hair that was falling out. Plus, my head hurt like a b. I had asked my mom to buzz my head several times that week. However, all of those moments involved tears and large quantities of hair falling out of my head. So every time we would just postpone the dreaded head buzzing a little bit longer. Apparently I underestimated how traumatic losing my hair was going to be. So after a final "are you sure" from my mom, she buzzed my head. And boy did it feel better!! There were some tears from me (and probably from my mom because she knew how much I had been struggling with this decision: to buzz or not to buzz). But in the end it was the right choice. I now no longer have to spend large quantities of time standing in front of a trash can as to not shed all over the whole house. I don't have to watch my hair collect at the bottom of the shower drain. I don't have to itch my head every 30 seconds. I don't have to squeeze my head because it hurts so badly. It's crazy how much of an on/off switch my hair had. One day, I wasn't losing hardly any hair, and the next day I felt like I did 10 years of male pattern baldness in 24 hours. Thursday, I went down to Gtown to show a girl around my house. Good news: She's taking it! I'm giving her a discount, but she is taking the lease, so that's one less thing to worry about. I just need to sort out logistics. Now the only thing I need to figure out is why in the effing world did Georgetown send me a bill for $15,000!!! Hard pass. Please, enjoy this photo of bald Emma. This is right after the cut, so there's still some fuzz up there. Just wasn't ready to share until now. I still have some fuzz, but more fell out in the hospital. But my eyebrows are still hanging in there! Unfortunately, my leg hair is also... Just barely though. I could probably wax them with scotch tape if I really wanted to. Thought of the day:
You know how you always have to say Wed-nes-day in your head every time you have to spell Wednesday? Well what if in previous Englishes, there was a -nes- in every day of the week? Monesday, Tunesday, Wednesday, Thurnesday, Frinesday, Saturnesday, Sunesday. Makes sense, right? Your linguistics lesson for the day. Or stupid thought by a grad school drop out. By:Bethany (English major and Speech language pathologist) and Emma (pretend linguist and grad school drop out) |
AuthorI'm Emma. I love food more than anyone will ever understand - specifically cheese, chocolate, bread and pretty much every fat & carb combo you can think of - apple cider donuts, ice cream, the list goes on. Fats and carbs just go so well together. Don't you think? Why is it that when I'm tasked to describe myself, I always talk about food? Anywho, I'm a grad student and rower training studying and training in DC. Here's to having no free time and loving every minute of it (jk...I'll tell you the bad stuff too)! Archives
July 2020
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