Port prepared to party

Okay, so yesterday's visit to VGH re the faulty port-a-cath was something of a bust (if you'll pardon the expression). Apparently there is absolutely nothing wrong with the device. The surgeon prepped me for surgery - to replace it with a new port - but before giving me any anesthetic (other than the pre-op stuff that isn't Valium but that other thing) he thought he'd try the port's function for himself. He had no trouble accessing it, flushing it, nor getting flash-back. In fact, he did it twice without a problem. Conclusion: either the nurses at St Mary's aren't familiar with the newer ports, or there was a block or kink in the line, or the area was still too swollen when it was first tried to get a straight stab at it and multiple stabbing attempts only made matters worse. Soooo, I took up the time of several hospital staff members, de-sterilized dozens of surgical tools, dirtied sheets and gowns, and sported the highly flattering iodine wash about my neck and upper torso for nothing. AND Marjorie Ann and I got up at 5/6am and traveled to Vancouver for a fool's errand. But we did have a lovely visit. And we popped by Donna's en route to the hospital to pick up some tile samples for my bathroom, and Marjorie Ann got some minor shopping in. So it wasn't a total waste of time.


Andy Warhol was right. I did bask in my 15min of fame. Apparently faulty ports (the sort that won't allow access) are such a rare thing, at least with the newer models, that I had all manner of cath lab staff stopping by to chat about my visiting twice in three weeks. I explained that I had enjoyed my time there on April 7 so much, I felt the need to return and catch up with everyone like we were instant BFFs. Given the timing of my appointment (12 noon), they asked if I had thought to bring them lunch. After admitting that I had other things on my mind en route in, one nurse with a twinkle in her eye said she would find a way to get me out of there sooner rather than later - in her pre-lunch break opinion, no cookies or other goodies = no service. She must have worked a minor miracle. Not only did her good vibes get the port working, but I was in and out of the cath lab in record time. Next time I'm in the area, I'll have to drop off a veggie tray and a cookie or two.

Some useful info gathered: In addition to the usual "pink slip", the Cancer Agency is now issuing letters asking BC Ferries to give priority boarding to treatment patients. Yes, you're last off, but you do get a handy spot next to the elevator. This proved to be quite useful as the stress of thinking I would have something ripped from my chest only to have it replaced with another potentially faulty device seemed to manifest in the feeling that my leg was catching whenever I took a step. When I got home I discovered my leg was indeed catching on something. Seems I hadn't removed all the sticky little patches that connect those monitor lines to me bod. One was catching on the inside of my jeans. Apparently I was too numb with delight at not having to go under the knife that I hadn't figured out what was happening until then. Needless to say my face was as red as my neck and chest when I realized what was going on.

Happy Days

Haven't been at the keyboard for a couple of days now, and thought I had best bring the world up to date re my little life. I know you are all eager to know what bit of excitement has landed in my lap.

After a rather listless week, it seems the chemo gods opted to give me a break for a couple of days as I had more energy this past weekend than I've had in a good six weeks. Hence the lack of posts. On Saturday I took Mom to the local farmers' market. We had an especially good time avoiding the light rain cozied up on Jon's truck tailgate while he encouraged passersby to eat more rhubarb. Since the market is on the local band lands, we also took the opportunity to visit the local museum which boasts one of the most extensive Native basket collections in the province. The lady in charge of the museum/gift shop that day was very informative and very entertaining. I must remember to visit the shop next time I'm looking for a special present for someone. Later, Mom and I went to Davis Bay for lunch. I had heard a lot about a purple food van (like the one that used to be in Tofino - perhaps this is the old van in a new location?) that had set up shop beside the beach. A friend had raved about the halibut tacos, but Mom and I both chose the crab/shrimp/avocado bonny. It was something like eggs benedict: two slices of toasted homemade corn bread covered with a generous amount of avocado and a poached egg. The lot was topped with a lovely hollandaise sauce that was hard to find amid the fresh crab and shrimp that was mixed into it. Roasted veggie hash browns and a fresh salad filled out the already overflowing plate. Not bad value at $10.

That wasn't the only gourmet meal I enjoyed over the weekend. On Sunday, while at church, David and Stephanie invited me to Chasters for dinner. I wanted to go ever since the restaurant opened a couple of years back, and more so since Stephanie took up the sous chef's toque. The elegant (but not stuffy) room has a nice view of the Georgia Strait. The meal was one of, if not the, best I've had anywhere on the Coast. Amuse bouche was a savory bit of pork belly, the appetizer arguably the best onion tart (yummy onion relish) I've ever had, and the seafood trio (salmon, halibut, scallops) was cooked to perfection (Hooded Merganser in Penticton, take note). Our server, Ben, recommended the pear martini - swear I was biting into a fresh Bartlett pear! Needless to say, I had no appetite issues that day. Topped off the evening with a brief visit to George and Merrily's to see their newly renovated kitchen. I'm soooo jealous.

There was a price to pay for all this frivolity, however. Spent most of Monday and Tuesday in bed recovering from too much good food and a bit too much exertion. Mom tells me I have to do what my body tells me (guess she gave up thinking I'll listen to her sage advice) so I did just that. Refuse to pass up the opportunity to make the most of what energy/good feelings I have, but am resigned to sleeping to speed the recovery.

Today was "Chemo Day" again. The easiest day thus far, mostly because nobody attempted to access the port-a-cath. Even so, it to a couple of attempts before the nurse could find a willing vein in my forearm. Sigh. I fear I have glimpsed my future. Forget being Aunt Edith's dog, or even her cat. I am destined to be a less than happy pincushion!

It wasn't all bad, however. Clarence Li, my priest and self-appointed "chemo buddy" sat with me for most of the treatment. We had a great talk and a few good laughs. Warning to the world: Clarence may have convinced me to try playing the harmonica! Barb Cotgrave was also there as she was sitting with a relative who was having IV treatment for a nasty infection. With such good company, the morning passed in rather a pleasant fashion. I had hoped to drop by the contemplative service at St Hilda's en route home, but the treatment ran overtime and I was rather tired from all the talk and treatment. (I just woke up from a rather lengthy nap as I type, so please pardon spelling and grammar errors.)

Tomorrow, Marjorie Ann will be driving me into Vancouver to VGH where I'll have this useless port-a-cath replaced by another, fingers crossed, that actually works. Stay tuned, as the stomach turns. Did I mention the bruise from the original port insertion on April 7 is still with me? I've decided to look upon it as inspiration for an art project - the colours are beautiful (at least in this photo taken on April 7), even if the cause was less so.

New Port Calling

Personally, I would prefer to be saying Newport calling - as in the Newport jazz festival - but that will have to wait for another time. Instead, a new port-a-cath will be soon welcomed into the wee fold in my chest. Seems the experts have determined my current one is somehow faulty and they want to try another. And here I thought I was going to get off without surgery this go 'round! Anyhoo, I'm heading into Vancouver (VGH to be precise) next Thurs April 29 to have the port replaced.

I checked out the word "port" online and note that several seaports are home to canneries. Given the location of my port, I have to wonder if canneries is a new euphemism for breasts. Of course, if this nonsense keeps up much longer I may find myself reaching for a gentle glass of port or Vinho do Porto as they say in Portugal. A nice nutty tawny would be nice, but I'll settle for a tipple from the bottle of Graham's Six Grapes that is currently collecting dust in my cellar.

Let's try starboard

Second day of chemo. Second day of nurses trying to get the newly installed port to work. It didn't. At least I had some Emla cream to apply this time - didn't feel the needle insertions until number three. Could only attempt the fourth and final attempt after an application of an ice bag over the port. In the end, we opted for one of the few remaining veins in the arm. Again. Dr. Wadge has notified VGH's cath lab. I should be heading back there in the next couple of days so they can determine what is going on - is the port turning? has it flipped completely around? Have my chest veins also packed it in? At least there will be alternatives should it be decided that I am simply not port material. Suspect they'll try a PICC line (peripherally inserted central catheter) next. If that fails, there is always the oral meds that are the back-up should the current two drugs prove ineffective. Good news: I had the foresight to pack my own lunch today - edamame salad, grapes, sesame wafers, and water. Such looked, and no doubt tasted, better than what the guy across from me was served. Interestingly, of the four of us in the room, he was the only one who accepted the lunch tray. And then he only ate the soup, dessert, and milk. Wonder what was the entree. Who cares, really? I'm back off to bed. Headache and general blah feeling. Makes me wonder all the more what the little people holding hands around my little pincushions (the silk made-in-China one and the "blanket toss" one I picked up in Alaska) have to smile about. Perhaps they are smiling because they aren't the ones being poked! Is that how Pokey got his name, or was Gumby saying he was just slow? Know it had nothing to do with the intelligence of the little red horse as he was the brighter of the two, or at least his head held more plasticine. What drivel! To bed! 

Sleepier Sunday and Monday

Ah, the best laid plans of mice, men, and the woman who has not yet felt the full force of her first chemo treatment.

Suffice it to say that much of Saturday's plans remain as such. I had felt a tad off when first waking up, but given my energy level at the time thought it of little consequence. By noon, however, that energy was flagging mightily and I knew, from past experience, that the chemo side effects were starting to kick in. Thankfully, I had completed the majority of my necessary chores but, sadly, had yet to start any of the fun activities I had planned for the day. No matter. I snuggled down into my cozy bed at about 4pm and awoke somewhat dazed at 2pm the following day (Sunday). (Yes, I did wake up for the obligatory trips to the washroom, for a small snack and drink of water, but since this is an all-ages-access blog, I thought it best not to mention the fiddly bits.) So much for attending church! I've learned that there will be a short meditation-focused service on Weds, and if my treatments finish in time I may well start attending those sessions as it appears mid-Sat to mid-Sun will be the tougher times during the weekly chemo cycle.

Last time I was on chemo I had about 24-48hrs of feeling good/okay followed by 24-48hr of flu-like symptoms which wound down to a general blah feeling before that morphed into something nearing normalcy. And then I'd be back having my next chemo and the cycle would begin again. Those flu-like symptoms aren't quite flu-like, but that is the easiest way to describe them. Perhaps it is more like the sensation I get just before the typical flu symptoms - joint aches, stomach upset, fever - set in. The headache, on the other hand, is very much present. The worse thing I've tried to do is rally against all this. The best thing? Take a Tylenol and go to bed.

Sleep is a wonderful healer. I trust my body enough to let it tell me what it needs and when it needs it. The approach has allowed me more time and energy to play in the garden and do other things around the house, read, sort through email, etc. than if I took the alternative approach. That's when I would, inevitably, pull a muscle or get terribly short of breath. Now that I'm a "woman of leisure", I can afford to take things at a more leisurely pace. At least it works for me.

Still had a bit of the fatigue and general blah stuff today. At least most of the headache has passed. Puttered in the garden, went to the bank, popped in on Jon for some gardening advice, and laid down for a five-hour "nap". Hope to have enough energy this week to enjoy some time with cousin Donna and her husband Hans (from New Brunswick) who are stopping in to see Mom after visiting other relatives on Vancouver Island.  They are scheduled to arrive on Wed, my next chemo day.

Night is falling. Bed is calling again. Given the amount of sleep in my near future, I am warmed by this late philosopher's thoughts:

Sleep is the interest we have to pay on the capital which is called in at death; and the higher the rate of interest and the more regularly it is paid, the further the date of redemption is postponed.  ~Arthur Schopenhauer

Of course, the concept of sleep always sounds more inviting when expressed by a poetic soul:

Then, the cool kindliness of sheets, that soon
Smooth away trouble; and the rough male kiss
Of blankets....   ~Rupert Brooke

This, however, might be the most accurate description of my new time-consuming past-time (although I'll leave the counting to Mrs. Sarkozy):

Sleep is perverse as human nature,
Sleep is perverse as legislature....
So people who go to bed to sleep
Must count French premiers or sheep,
And people who ought to arise from bed
Yawn and go back to sleep instead.   ~Ogden Nash


'Nite nite.

Sleepy Saturday

My garden will certainly appreciate today's rain. The change in the weather will also inspire me to "cocoon" a bit. Will make the weekly trek to the local farmer's market and do a few other chores, but intend to spend the rest of the day doing something creative. May do some weaving or knitting or get to one of the dozens of UFOs (unfinished objects) that have been sitting in my sewing/craft room for days/weeks/years/since the last millennium. So much inspiration (my baby shoes, high school reunion pin, 2nd prize ribbon for the nearby drawing done at age 7, story written in 1965 with accompanying drawing, photo of me and studio mates that ran in the Georgia Straight, poem written by a friend, yarn I've died, rhubarb parchment I made, inspiring words heard/read, beautiful postcards - some of artwork by friends, and other bric-a-brac that covers wall above sewing desk ...), so little time. What inspires you?

I'll drink to that

I have long mused that I was born into the wrong century or era. What century or era was the more appropriate is up for debate, but after thumbing through my 1868 (the 2nd) edition of The Philosophy of Eating by Albert J. Bellows, MD (a "late" professor of Chemistry, Physiology, and Hygiene), I have concluded that the Victorian era would be a fine place to land. The good doctor concluded, in a chapter titled "Diet in Sickness", that the diet provided in hospitals should be as follows. For the sake of simplicity/editing for length, I will only include the breakfast portioned out at a few hospitals.

St. Thomas's Hospital of London
Full diet: 2 pints beer, 14 oz bread, water gruel
Dry diet: 14 oz. bread, 2 pints of beer, water gruel
Milk diet: 12 oz. bread, 1 pint of milk
Fever diet: 12 oz bread, 2 pints of beer

London Hospital
Common diet: 12 oz bread, 1 pint porter men, 1/2 pint porter women, gruel
Middle diet: Same as common.
Low diet: 8 oz bread, gruel
Milk diet: 12 oz bread, gruel

All three hospitals above have, when ordered by the physician, given boiled mutton to those on the full diet "in addition, chops, steaks, fish, wine, spirits, porter, etc."

At Westminster Hospital, so-called incurables were given 3/4 lb bread, 1/2 lb meat, 1/2 lb potatoes, 1/4 pint milk, and 1/4 pint porter daily.

Only Middlesex Hospital listed a cancer diet which consisted of 12 oz bread, 1/2 lb meat, 1/2 lb potatoes, 1 pint milk daily.

I note with more than a passing interest in the mention of "shells" being served at breakfast and supper at Boston City Hospital.

Do not for a minute think that I am advocating an alcoholic diet. Far from it, although I do enjoy a tipple of good wine now and then. However, my current malady has me less interested in wine and more interested in experimenting with a vegetarian + seafood diet. My appreciation for the finer things in the culinary world has not been curtailed, however. For example, as I type I am sipping on a lovely Vignette Wine Country Soda which is all natural and non-alcoholic. The key ingredient is Chardonnay grape juice concentrate. At 100 calories per 12 oz bottle, it is a nice treat. It is also nice diluted with a bit of sparkling water, cranberry juice, or both. Picked up a four-pack at a shop called Homewerx on Davie St between Burrard and Thurlow. Cost was under $12.

So you see, I'm doing okay. Haven't entirely given up the things I enjoy. And I'm feeling much better today than yesterday, and most certainly better than after treatment on Wed (I believe much of the credit goes to Wendy and her excellent treatment yesterday). Heck, felt good enough that I did some gardening today. Nice way to enjoy the sun.