Chemo day has started with port problems. Our nurse did a needle stick just to get the lab work started but also gave him port “drano” again. This time, the drano didn’t work so the nurses sent us on a walk. That didn’t work either. When Ken sat back down in his chemo lounge (he says it’s very comfy), the nurse started chattering to him about stress reduction. Ken said “I’m not really stressed.” She was trying again to draw blood through the port and she said, sternly, “Relax!” We both laughed at that and then the blood came flowing out of the port. The success of her scolding just made us laugh harder.
Every week, now, we get copies of Ken’s lab work. We look at his creatinine level first since kidney function is always a worry for us. Then, I look at the flags, though he doesn’t like to know about them. This week, he’s got flags on white and red blood cells, hemoglobin, hematocrit, monocytes, red blood cell volume (MCV), and of course creatinine. What does all that mean? Well, except for the creatinine level, it means he has cancer. Right now, they aren’t telling us they want to address any of the flags but at some point, I suspect that doctor will be ordering iron or a white blood cell enhancer (something like Neulasta). We’ve heard some stories about both of these!
The oncologist stopped by. He wants me to text him a picture of one of the tumors. Ken half jokingly asked for a copy of the article if it gets published and the doctor promised to give us one. Then he said, “That’s my wife over there.” For a minute, I thought he was joking. “Your wife?” One of us asked. “Yes, she needed iron.” After he left, we looked at each other in stunned silence. I can’t explain it but somehow knowing that his wife is going through her own fight shook us both. One of the other patients said, “She’s lucky!” We all laughed, even Mrs. Oncologist.
A young man came in this morning and I mistook him for a patient support person like me. He’s actually a 6-month survivor who came in to get his port flushed. Ken says getting cancer later in life means he’s lucky too and when I see someone like that young man, I think maybe he’s right. Most of the time, I think cancer and luck don’t belong in the same sentence together. There’s nothing “fair” or “lucky” about a cancer diagnosis. There are, however, many silver linings. For example, as Ken noted recently, when they remove part of his colon, he’ll get the benefit of weight reduction without dieting. How much does a partial colon weigh? Don’t tell him that, even with the tumor, he’s only losing about two pounds in body parts!
