The Merits of the Case

Yesterday’s last AC treatment was relatively anticlimactic. Or as anticlimactic as any chemo treatment can be, anyway. I’m so glad it’s over, and now I’m just hoping this weekend and next week go as smoothly and as quickly as possible.

As for side effects, yesterday after the treatment I felt the old familiar “living in oatmeal” sensation that I seem to get each time. But yesterday evening I felt much worse than I did after the first three. No nausea to speak of, just general miserable-ness. During the treatment, I had the same rare reaction I always have to the Cytoxan…that strange feeling in my head and sinuses…but it was much milder than the first three times.

I tried a new experiment during my treatment yesterday, as well, which the oncologist informed me would not work. The nurses thought it might and were interested to hear my results. A couple of weeks ago I ran across an article about a cancer patient who was treated with Adriamycin who ate ice chips or popsicles during his or her treatment to prevent mouth sores. I thought it was worth a try, so I stopped at McDonald’s for one of their 42 oz. cups filled with ice on my way to my appointment. (It was half melted by the time I actually received the Adriamycin because once I arrived at the oncologist’s office I realized that I had completely forgotten to take my Emend, an anti-nausea medicine that I’m supposed to take before my appointment. They didn’t have any samples in the office and the entire staff suggested that I would be much happier (and way less sick) if I took it, so I opted to drive all the way home, take the pill, and drive all the way back before my appointment. During the extra hour of commute time half the ice melted, but I still had more than enough to conduct the experiment.) I dutifully chewed on ice chips during the entire administration of the Adriamycin, and will let you know if I think it makes a difference.

This kind of thing actually has a clinical name: cryotherapy. The oncologist and my nurse, Patty, told me that their office used to use this same treatment during the administration of another chemo drug called 5-FU. As the medicine is being administered it flows throughout the veins in your body, including in your mouth. The theory is that if you place ice on the cells in your mouth while the medicine is flowing through those veins, supposedly it freezes those cells and somehow that helps to protect them from becoming damaged while the drug is affecting them. There was a time in the United States when a similar treatment was used to try to prevent hair loss during chemo. People would wear an ice cap on their heads for a certain amount of time and this was supposed to help. It has fallen out of favor here because it apparently didn’t work very well, but I believe it’s still recommended in parts of Europe. I’ll let you know what my results are this week.

I am quite certain that my favorite part of chemotherapy is talking to the nurses and other patients during my treatments. I am endlessly fascinated by the stories of the people I meet each time I go. Yesterday was no exception.

During the past two years, I have become quite used to being the oldest person in most of my classes by 15 or more years. At the oncologist’s office, however, I am by far the youngest patient in the room at all times by at least 10 years, and usually considerably more. I am definitely young to be going through this. Yesterday my next-seat neighbor was a woman who was probably about 70-75 years old. Her name was Rowena. (I did not ask her permission to post her name, but it fit her so well that I think it’s an important part of the story.) She was just a tiny little thing, but was the picture of casual chic in her cute gray t-shirt and fashionable sneakers and pink sweat pants. She wore all kinds of jewelry, from multiple rings to bracelets and earrings and was very tan. I immediately noticed her carefully tousled strawberry blond hair, since hair seems to be the first thing I notice these days.

Before she sat down, Rowena made the rounds of the treatment room followed by her husband, greeting the patients she knew and walking right into the nurses’ office cubicle to say hello. She carefully chose her seat location and then was warmly and enthusiastically greeted by each nurse who walked into the room. The reason for the warm reaction was immediately apparent: Rowena brings a lot of warmth and light into any room herself.

At one point (while I was supposedly reading but was actually observing the room and taking Harriet the Spy notes) I overheard her asking her nurse if I had breast cancer, and then exclaiming about how very young I was. Soon after that, we struck up a conversation. After asking about my cancer and treatments, she told me about hers. About 6 years ago or so she found out that she had colon cancer. She had surgery for that and then began chemotherapy. During her many blood tests during her chemotherapy treatments, her doctor noticed that one of the readings (her blood protein, I think) was not at all where it should have been and ordered more tests for her. She then found out that she had a rare blood cancer as well, completely unrelated to the colon cancer. She ended up having two different stem cell transplants and more chemo, and now she is on a “maintenance” chemo treatment. The doctors have been able to stabilize the cancer, but she has to live with it.

Her attitude and energy were truly infectious. Here is a woman who by all rights should be despondent…she’s been through colon cancer and now is living with an incurable blood cancer that she has to be vigilant about at a time in her life when she should be resting and enjoying the fruits of the previous years. And yet she is just as happy and upbeat as she could be. In fact, there is no doubt in my mind that she is enjoying the fruits of her previous years. The cancer treatments seemed to be, for her, just one more appointment on the calendar and nothing more.