Update from Hotel Deja Vu

Actually, I am in room 3406 at Presbyterian/St. Luke's Hospital in Denver. But . . . for all practical purposes it could be Cheyenne Regional Medical Center or any other institution occupied by nurses creeping silently by in their crocs and tennies, patients roaming the hallways accompanied by a very quiet, skinny friend and the food and nutrition workers who roll their carts up and down the uneven surfaces of the hallways.

My particular room is neither large nor small. It is neither nice nor dowdy. It is a simple box with windows on one side. The view is of a concrete courtyard and my windows are precisely disected by a yellow refuse tube through which scads of old ceiling tiles, sheetrock and other building materials shoot as the floor above this one is being remodeled.

I finished that first chemo drug on Friday last week and then the second one started. It was called cytoxin. I know how it earned its name. It is highly toxic and after the first dose, the patient has been mutated into a one-eyed, gagging, puking, moaning monster. Not having partied too hard since college (exception WACO - Casper - Jerry Orr, Susan and I shot for shot) I had forgotten the myriad of flourescent colors that enhance otherwise mustard brown bile.

A continuous regimen of anti-nausea drugs has kept the cycloptic puker at bay.

My "birthday" (the day I received the cells from my donor) was at 1:00 a.m. on Wednesday, December 10, 2009. I knew ahead of time that my donor was a 22 year old male. I was worried for quite a while that he would share things in common with my 22 year old son --- particularly a love for independent punk music. Well, the cellls were flown in from Germany, so my taste for music might lean a little more toward techno and my beer of choice may go from a good old red beer to some "dark lager."

One of my coping mechanisms is to visualize with games. When I was having the chemo, I was playing pac man. The chemo were the little men chomping up all my bad cells. Now I am playing tetris where I watch as all the bone marrow building blocks fit down into my bones to settle as a well-functioning puzzle. I also visualize that those cells are giving my body the wherewithall to leave this experience looking like Heidi Klum. The mind can be a dangerous thing,

All in all things are going well. My biggest complaint is being tired. I kept saying I would need a nice, long rest after the election and so it seems I am in the place to get it.

As always, thank you all for your positive thoughts, prayers, and good vibrations. Knowing you are out there pulling for me helps me keep my mission at the forefront of my mind.

Over the River and Through the Woods

Thanksgiving has come and gone. Dylan has been put on an airplane bound for Minneapolis. And I have checked in to Presbyterian/St. Luke's Hospital in Denver. Yesterday was a long . . . and hungry . . . day. No food or drink from midnight on Sunday until nearly 6:00 last night. That was a requirement for the medications used during the installation of a three-lumen catheter in the upper right side of my chest. The procedure began at about 3:00 in the afternoon and I was in my room on the third floor by a little after 4:00 p.m.

Several shots of lidocaine were administered prior to making the incision(s) necessary to install the gizmo. By 8:00 last night, it had still not worn off completely. It was a lot like having one side of your face numb after going to the dentist for a filling. Only this was my right boob that was dead weight and dragging the floor.

At 6:00 this morning, I received my first dose of the first chemotherapy drug. It is called "busulfan" and I will receive it every 6 hours for the first four days. As with my other experiences with chemo, I have tolerated this rather well.

At about 3:15 this afternoon I was surprised by a spinal tap or lumbar puncture. The purpose was to make absolutely certain there were no leukemia cells in my spinal fluid. A dose of some type of chemo (methadexadrone, maybe) was given as a prophylactic measure. If any bad cells still persist, more of that medication will be administered.

The one big plus of being here is that the food is soooo much better than at CRMC in Cheyenne. I have had chicken, fish, and even liver and oinions and each of them was actually good. As far as the liver an onions, it was not a standard meal today at lunch, it was the chef's selection and I had to specifically ask for it. Yes, I am one of the few people in the world that LIKES liver and onions. It was not as good as what my husband cooks, but it was more than acceptable.

The staff here, like at CRMC, is very friendly, caring, and good at their jobs. I miss my 8th floor angels (Kim, Heather, Angela, Cat, Stephanie, Mary, Jackson, and the rest) but I know I am in good hands here as well. All of the docs so far have been male, so Dr. Batezini's reputation as the most beautiful female oncologist is still intact.