Capecitabine

My oncologist has sent me some more information about Capecitabine (Xeloda), the Plan B drug she told me about a couple of weeks ago. The information comes from the BC Cancer Agency Drug Manual, a more reliable source than Wikipedia and other online medical advise sites where I gleaned my initial information.  That is not to say the information from any source is particularly appealing. The BCCA information lists side effects in the order in which they might occur. The least savory of the lot - the hand-foot skin reaction - appears at the top of the list, with nausea/vomiting, diarrhea, sore mouth, decreased white blood cells and platelets, and fatigue falling further down the list (in the order that I have written them here). Apparently my skin will be more susceptible to sunburn as well. Hair loss, it seems, is a very rare side effect of this drug.

It is the hand-foot skin reaction that scares me most. As I've said before, I care far less about the length of my life than the quality of it. Should I beat the prognosis and live well past the one year I should have remaining (statistically speaking, as soon as the cancer entered my lungs I was only expected to live another two years max), I'll be damned if I want to spend the entire time confined to my bed, comfortable as it may be. As long as I continue to feel as good as I do at present, I intend to do some serious traveling. Also plan to do more work around the garden and in the art/craft line while I'm still able to do physical stuff and activities requiring fine motor skills. These are, after all, the activities that bring me so much joy. None of these things will be possible if my hands and feet are numb, swollen, and painful. The "management" suggestions given in the BCCA bumpf state that I should avoid tight-fitting shoes and apply liberal amounts of Bag Balm to the skin of the affected areas once the hand-foot thing kicks in. That's a mighty flimsy band-aid treatment for the problem, if my previous experience with Taxol is anything to go by.

Still feel I've made the right decision for me re "taking a break" for the time being. If the pulling in my left side becomes more pronounced (i.e. if it starts occurring regularly and not only when I turn at certain angles) or if shortness of breath becomes as much an impediment to activity as it did in the early spring, I might be tempted to seek advice about other potential treatment sooner rather than later. I will, however, admit there is a very faint voice in the far recesses of my ever-greying grey matter that whispers that the present plan of foregoing treatment might not be in my best interest. A very, very faint voice. In any case, at this time I am not the least bit interested in sourcing alternative treatments - although I thank everyone who passed along info re the pureed asparagus diet, some treatments that are being pioneered in Eastern Europe and South America, etc.

When people look at me, they don't see someone who is terminally ill. I certainly don't feel it - although it must be said that I've never been terminally ill before so am not entirely certain how one is supposed to look/act/feel in such a situation. It's sort of like asking someone how they feel on their birthday, as if they somehow transform into a more mature or aged being once the clock strokes midnight. Heck, I can't honestly say that I feel a whole lot different now than when I was 42, 32, 22, or 12 - aside from the arthritis that has invaded my knee, the expansion of my waistline that makes it impossible to wear my high school prom dress (yes, I still have it!), and the unbelievable unmentionable affects of gravity on an ever-aging body. Maybe that's what it's all about! The butt stops here! Or is it here? With my luck, my butt will continue growing long after I cease breathing - unlike nails and hair (sorry to shatter any delusions of folks believing in that urban myth). I seem to remember someone saying noses and ears continue to grow throughout our lives, too. That explains so much, doesn't it? And then folks wonder why I live alone. I mean, really!