As I was writing this blog post, I kept thinking about the number of people who approached me after my interview with Andre Picard - health columnist from the Globe and Mail. Many affirmed the power of my vulnerability but also said that my words had moved them to tears. I didn't set out to do that intentionally. As I tweeted on social media, maybe my talks should come with trauma warnings.
Six weeks can make all the difference in one's outlook on life. A few weeks ago, I was seriously considering palliative care and what it would look like. Now, I have transitioned to planning trips throughout the spring and into the fall. There is hope.
Sometimes, life takes fairy tale turns. This is such a turn. It started with a phone call at noon on the Thursday before Christmas. There was a cancellation and they had a chemo chair available on Friday morning. At 8:30 am. "Take your dexamethasone ASAP and try and get your three doses in before you see us in 18 hours..."
For the last few months, many people have asked how long I will be on my chemo-pemetrexed maintenance. My flip answer would be "until the end of time." The end of time came quicker than I expected and in a way I didn't expect. It turns out it isn't quite the end of time, but the future treatment options are limited.
Cancer patients often talk about calendars. I have no big things on my calendar beyond the end of November. Until now. I ended up in an incredible conversation with a group from Barcelona. When they discovered that I spoke Spanish, I got a dinner invitation. Dying is not an option. I have turn up in Barcelona in September 2025 for an incredible paella. I can live for that.
World Conference on Lung Cancer
After my issues with wound care, I want to share an update about my journey. I was released from the hospital with clear instructions on how to take care of my wound. I also had an appointment to see Wound Care the next week. On Thursday, I received a call about a cancellation. The nurse offered me an earlier appointment on Friday instead of Sunday. I quickly accepted the chance to see a professional. I thought I was doing okay, but having someone check my wound gave me reassurance that it was healing well.
After the 5K Give a Breath run on June 1st, my life took a bit of a turn and I ended up in hospital for four days. I'm going to recount what happened in some detail and it may be a bit graphic for those who don't live in a medical world. I tell the story as a reminder that immuno-compromised doesn't mean "wearing a mask" or jump to the head of the line in ER. It can be life-threatening.
Life has had some pretty wild ups and downs over the last few weeks.
Beginning with the one of the joys though, I had the pleasure of pet sitting for a friend. I looked after their bubs (a less stigmatized name for pet rats)for a few weeks in early May while they accessed Ioboga treatment for chronic pain.(https://www.nytimes.com/2024/03/05/health/ibogaine-psychedelic-opioid-addiction.html) The bubs provided a lot of cuddles and joy in a busy time. I'm seriously tempted to look into a couple for my tiny space. I do miss having pets.
Scheduling
Planning seemed pretty straight forward but as the weeks passed with no chemo appointment, I started struggling. The low point came on a Friday afternoon when I went for my normal run and after 4K had to stop. I was coughing badly and couldn't stop. I finished the last kilometer hobbling and doubled over. I found myself short of breath on several occasions and it scared me. Is this how I'm going to die? Waiting for a charge nurse and a booking clerk to find a slot in schedule for me?
