Well, today was my first Chemo since surgery, scan and the subsequent finding of new cancer growth on my liver.
It was bittersweet to see the caring nurses who had hoped they’d see me again sometime under different circumstances. They really are a great team over there and I’m thankful that they take such good care of me.
The morning started off on a brighter note, my port had blood return after not having been accessed for a few months without the need of anticoagulant.
I was hooked up to my first medication, the biologic Cetuximab. A little under an hour had passed when I noticed that I was having trouble breathing and audibly wheezing. I rang the call button and a few of the nurses came to take care of me. They stopped the drip and I was given some IV steroids and Benadryl as well as some additional oxygen. After about an hour off the infusion, my breathing returned to normal.
After waiting a bit for the doctors to figure out the course we should take, it was decided that we’d go on to the next meds and forget about the unused Cetuximab. The rest of treatment finished up without incident and I finally left the medical center after a fun-filled 7 hours.
I’m not going to lie. I’m in a shitty place. Mentally. I’m mad and sad that I’m back on Chemo and that I didn’t really get much of a break after surgery. The aggressiveness of this cancer leaves me little room for optimistic thinking. I’m back to feeling like I have extremely limited time left and that most of that time will be in pain and discomfort from treatment. It feels like I’m dragging out the inevitability of relatively imminent death from this disease. This is not a great place to be.
Yes, I have a wonderful wife, family and friends who want me around as long as possible. But it’s also very hard for anyone who has not been in this sort of a life threatening and uncomfortable state to understand what it feels like to be in such an untenable position. Just as I, luckily, have not been in their position of having a loved one dealing with this sort of disease and can’t fully understand what they(you) are going through.
I can’t say that if we weren’t living through a pandemic and such social unrest, the best decision for me wouldn’t possibly be to stop treatment, buy a bunch of plane tickets and try to get the most enjoyment out of my limited time by seeing everyone and everything I can before I die. But here were are, living through a pandemic and great social unrest, so I’ll stay the course and continue treatment. Not trying to be too harsh here, but – my feelings are my own, they’re valid and I do not want to hear any opinions what I should or should not be feeling or thinking.
I love you all, thank you for your continued support, love and prayers. Please feel free to reach out in whatever ways you’d like but also please understand that I’m not really giving out a lot of positivity and optimism in return. Hopefully I’ll see some changes in the numbers and scans that gives me a bit more hope in the near future, but right now that is not where my head is. And that is ok.
2 thoughts on “Chemo: Round 10 – Same Shit, Different Meds”
Sending love and prayers. I was living by your win. It gave many of us hope, especially me. It just sucks. Fuck cancer . There’s nothing more to say. I’m so so sorry Matt. There are no words. Wishing you and Emily a not too awful week post chemo. Most of all praying this time works.
Sending whatever I can in your direction Matt. Hoping for good news soon. Fuck cancer.