Another two weeks have passed. Time feels so weird in this pandemic time. I was looking back at my last entry and it all feels so far away. I had forgotten nearly all of what was happening then. I’m sure I’ll feel the same way reading this in a week.
Last week I had a scan on Monday. It was incredibly bizarre to go to a clinic at this period in time. We scheduled my scan at a local branch of a radiology practice, rather than the office I normally go to attached to the hospital, to lower my risk. Even still, before I could enter I was interviewed by a pair in head to toe PPE including face masks and coats. They took my temp, asked screening questions, checked I was on the list for that day, and then finally opened the door for me to go in. One thing I hadn’t realized is how much masks hide people’s facial expressions. I could tell the woman at the front desk who checked me in was truly smiling because it reached her eyes, but for most others it was impossible to tell what they were thinking or trying to silently communicate.
The scan involves injecting a constrast dye, and we wanted to use my port so we’d go through the cleaning process I’m supposed to do every 4-8 weeks (depends on who you ask) instead of setting up a separate appointment. The tech who accessed it was unhappy with the amount of blood return he got and recommended a dye study test be done to follow up. In a normal world that would have been done last week. In today’s world we’re putting it off at least 2 months. The tech mentioned that his wife crochets and when I asked him about it he showed me page after page of her projects on his phone. I love a proud crafty husband.
That was a lot of lead up to the scan results, which were stable. So, the plan is for me to stay on the same chemo for the next two months. I like that idea, I feel safe on this drug that I can take at home and only requires two blood draws out of the house over the four week cycle. While stable is always good news for me, this doesn’t feel like good news. Partially because my blood marker, CEA, is climbing, which means that the next scan could have bad results. And apparently this drug, Lonsurf, rarely does shrink anyone’s cancer, its role is really just to keep them stable. That sounds desperate to me, makes it feel less safe.
There is still a clinical trial at MD Anderson that we are hoping to enroll me in, and it is scheduled to accept new patients in June, which is when my two months of treatment will be up. I never imagined that I would be leaving the house in June and am surprised my doctor thinks that will be reasonable, but she’s far more informed about the risks than I am. And really, all I can do is wait until then and see what happens.
As for how I’m feeling physically – mostly just very tired. I’m still needing a nap most days, on top of 9-10 hours at night. An amount that wouldn’t be a problem if I didn’t have to be in charge of schooling an 8 year old, but is tough in the circumstances. I have managed two runs in the 3.5 weeks I have been home. A few more walks than that, but generally not much activity. I know it’s so important to help fatigue and for my health, but it requires a herculean effort to achieve some days. If anyone has any hints on staying active despite fatigue I will take it.
As always during this time, I hope you’re all well. I’m thinking of my cancer community and what a hard time this is for us all. I’m thinking of my friends and how much I wish we could be in person hugging. My ears are always open if you’re having a hard time. ❤