THE BED IS A DEAD GIVEAWAY
The bed is a dead giveaway.
It looks nice enough with its fluffy white comforter, soft white sheets, and linen upholstered headboard.
But then, too many throw pillows, a jumbo heating pad, a sleeping wedge, Kindle in the bed, phone in the bed, TV remotes in the bed. All signs of someone not feeling well. Someone who can’t even reach their own nightstand.
Yesterday, while waiting for my infusion, IV already veined in place, vitals already taken, blood draw sent to the lab and returned with flying colors, I reached for a sip of water and felt some kind of a crack and a shooting pain in my right clavicle area.
And just like that, everything changed.
My nurse and Nurse practitioner were called. Heat packs were cracked. And I was sent for x-rays down the hall, thankful for this technology that lives right in the same office as my oncology practice. As my dear nurses and doctors.
Seven painful views later, the radiologist determined there was no fracture, which is great news but meanwhile I can’t move my arm. Likely due to annoying cancer growth, plus hard lymph nodes - gosh it’s all a mess.
The biggest mess is my esophagus, which has a blockage, and so I am on a pure liquid diet. And in the past two weeks, the blockage has become worse, because I went from a soft diet to purée to liquid.
I can barely swallow water. The good news is it’s fixable and on Monday I’m scheduled to have it fixed. This will be my second endoscopy in less than a week. That’s lucky during a time of busy offices with appointments often months away.
My first endoscopy this past Wednesday, showed that I had a severe stricture, a kind of a little fucky closure in the esophagus, very very close to the top of my throat, which is why I can’t swallow any food past that point.
My gastro doctor’s office is on my street corner, so it was easy —I walked up alone to his building which also has a surgery center.
The check in staff could not have been more welcoming. They were all nice and treated me like a normal person. The team inside was gold. My nurse, patient and kind. It was very crowded and very busy. Yet they remained professional and efficient and the place was clean. And everyone had masks. My doctor stopped by and said “Flori, I’m so glad we’re doing this.” He is one of the kindest people on this planet. And best doctor.
Soon they wheeled me into the OR, arranging me on the same table as I arrived. Turn onto your left side, here is a warm blanket, here’s a pillow for you to lean back on, can you put your head here, are you OK, are you comfortable?
The anesthesiologist was standing by and she said she’d give me some propanol and it would be very fast acting, and without combining any other drugs, I would not have any hangover. Okay sounds good, I say.
There were many voices and a lot of protocol being covered so I lay quietly and waited. And I felt a warm hand, lightly rubbing my shoulder and I thought what a kind and human gesture and took a big deep breath and relaxed feeling a little less anxious.
I wondered who had their hand rubbing my shoulder, and then I realized it was my doctor. See—kindest human.
Healing does not get better than that moment.
NeXt I heard. OK, Flori, I am going to give you the propanol now, and I could feel medicine running into my IV in my hand, so I unclenched my hand, giving it an easier time flowing in.
A few minutes later I was in recovery. And the news was delivered; Flori I am shocked. With your swallow tests being normal, I wasn’t expecting a blockage. You have a stricture and will have to see someone from Dr Lo’s team.
“I’ve already texted with your oncologist and Dr Lo’s NP and asked that you be seen this week. He’ll either dialate or stent or both but they’ll get you swallowing again”. So many people working on my behalf, I am grateful.
I am also hugely relieved that there is some thing they can fix. Because my money has been on modern medicine for the past 26 years. So many talented surgeons, oncologists, physicists, radiologists, specialists, orthopedists, researchers, scientists, and yes, even big Pharma.
They all played a part in my 15 1/2 years of surviving metastatic breast cancer.
My goals now orient towards quality of life. I’ve got to be able to swallow because I’m hungry and I want to eat food! My secondary goal is to go after this fucking cancer again. A new drug, called trodelvy. I’ve done one infusion and I really need to get going on it. But swallowing takes precedent. It can hopefully be improved quickly. New chemo is a longer game. I’ll need several cycles to see if it’ll work.
Yesterday my plan was to get another infusion, but instead, I had this weird crack, sound and intense pain and everybody running around to see if I broke my clavicle. Which, thankfully I didn’t. But something happened to my right arm which is now mostly out of commission.
Thankful I could talk things through with my nurses and my daughter and an executive decision was made—hold treatment until after throat procedure scheduled on Monday.
So that’s where I’m at. Throat on Monday. Rest on Tuesday. Back to chemo on Wednesday. Fingers crossed it all somehow works out.
January 21, 2023 © flori hendron