Cytotoxicity

It has been a while since I have updated my blog. There has not been much to report, thankfully.

One of the more unusual aspects of chemotherapy is the fact that the patient's excretions become cytotoxic, which means damaging to cells. This means that saliva, blood, tears, sweat, semen, feces but most of all urine all become cytotoxic and could be harmful to others. This means that for a gentleman, you must always sit while urinating in a barthroom so as not to splash and close the lid before flushing. This is a difficult thing to remember all the time after thirty nine years of micturating while vertical. This means that, especially with the exploring hands and nature of a toddler in the home, means constant and fastidious cleaning of the bathroom. It would be eaiser to remember if it lasted throughout but it only lasts for seven days after treatment, so there is a lovely peroid of a few days at the end of each cycle where things return to normal. This is something that contributes heavily to the difficulty of remembering to take precautions - especially when going for a pee in the wee hours, which is when I most often appear to forget and stand as normal.

So far, my treatment seems to have settled down somewhat. It is now in a recognisable pattern that makes me feel less unsure of my body than I have done since beginning treatment. I am now currently hooked up to my oxaliplatin for cycle five. Cycles two and four went very smoothly, with me feeling relatively normal from the Thursday morning onwards for the rest of the cycle. The dexamthazone (steroid), though it makes me feel unpleasant - mildly nauseous and rather high - is the lesser of two evils rather than spending those days ferociously nauseous and vomiting.

At present my routine is as follows:

Monday - spend the day in hospital receiving chemotherapy. Spend the evening managing nausea.
Tuesday - spend the day at home managing nausea. May feel some pain and require morphine.
Wednesday - very likely to wake and feel indigestion pain early and require constant morphine throughout the day. My 5FU infuser gets detached around lunch time by the district nurse.
Thursday - may require tramadol to handle a milder form of the indigestion pain earlier on though nausea has disipated. Begin taking the G-CSF injections, which I can now give to myself.
Friday - Sunday - take G-CSF daily. No symptom control required. May have some leg bone, pelvis, lower back throbbing pain from the G-CSF which can be managed with paracetemol.
Saturday - get bloods taken to check white cell count prior to next cycle.

At present fatigue is not an issue, though I have been told it will come as it is cumalative and there is nothing they can provide to manage it. The treatment will continue until early November when I will get a chemotherapy holiday.

A chemotherapy holiday for those with a life limiting illness such as mine requiring palliative treatment (preparation for death) is a limited time away from chemotherapy to give me some chemo free time to enjoy life as a normal person. Regular scans will be needed to monitor the progress of the growth of my primary (not sure about secondaries) tumor. Chemotherapy will need to begin again once the tumor grows to a certain size. The first holiday will be between six weeks to four months. Obviously I am hoping for the latter or as close to it as possible. For this, my first and apparently longest, holiday I have planned the holiday of a lifetime. I will be cashing in my modest superannuation pension to have a no expense spared holiday of a lifetime. My small family will be returning home to Ireland and Scotland to see family and friends. For me it will be a chance to say goodbye to extendede family and old friends, the majority of whom I may never see again in person due to my prognosis. For my wife and son, it will be a way for them to reconnect and revisit family and friends to secure connections for after my passing. My son will have the opportunity to meet every single one of his relatives on both sides, so I will be taking lots of photographs to secure his memories.

One thing we do not have, as is probably the fact with most families, is photos of my wife, my son and I as a trio (as one of us is usually holding the camera). For those reading this whom I will see on my return trip, or indeed, whom I see regularly, please take photos - lots of them - of my family as a trio together. It is the one thing we do not have in droves and it is something I dearly want for my son and wife to help them heal after I am gone and to give them memories to cherish throughout the rest of their lives.