Trick Or Treat

This being Halloween and all, I thought it was appropriate to post about blood. My blood, to be exact.

After flying back and forth to the West Coast and points in between over the Summer––what Summer?––I was having some cramping in my leg. Of course, the first thing that comes to mind is "blood clot." (Ricardo, I was thinking of you when it happened). Then it gets real weird and my whole left leg starts vibrating, as if an electric current is running through my veins not the cartoonish "electric shock" but I'm sure I could run a 10 watt light bulb from the bottom of my foot.

Then again, it has been 4 years since my last chemo treatment––well almost, Nov 3 is the exact date––and maybe new side effects were taking place. The chemo I was given had just been cleared through clinical trials so what historical evidence did they have? Was a real shock to the nervous system a side effect? Was I just healing? WTF? So I reluctantly called my Doctor. (I was reluctant because I can never see him quickly as he's busy as hell and because I just came off of 7 days away from work for my Mom's funeral and service). I got lucky and saw him at the end of the week. "It could be blood, your veins or maybe even something wrong with your back." Great, the trifecta. Needles in my arm for drawing blood. Poking around and getting MORE radiation from an MRI. And, some ultrasound of the Doppler (where am I going, to a meteorologist?) and Venous Doppler/Lower Extremity.

Now I'm thinking I'm so DONE with giving blood. Messes my ass up like you wouldn't believe. And you would think after all the needles and pumping and draining cancer patients and survivors go through, I'd be OK with it all. Wrong. The trick for me is to not look and prepare for the 10 day rash that always comes from the needle.

The treat will be in the results. I hope.

Blood Work

I've been waiting to write about my latest round of check-ups.

Why? When you have cancer––or did have, in my case––you have to get checked on by ALL your Doctors, get poked, drained, pee in a cup, x-rayed, put in a tube for 25+ minutes, probed, pinched, weighed, measured (am I still growing or am I shrinking?) have a tube shoved up your nose and down your neck and get undressed and dressed about a dozen times in front of complete strangers and open windows.

I'm about one-third of the way through my rounds. I started by going to my GP––Dr. Marc Plescia, the angel who looked at the lump on the right side of my jaw and said, "I don't like this. Let's get you to see Dr. Lee right away."––who always does a thorough job. He's also the Doctor who gets the ball rolling by ordering blood work. Now if you've read my blog and posts before, you know how much I hate needles. And if you've ever had blood taken from your body after you've had cancer, they take a LOT. I felt like I was at a gas station, only they were pumping blood out of me as I was filling up test tube after test tube of blood samples. (I think there were 6 big vials, as I only looked at my arm and what was happening after I was told to "hold this and press here for 30 seconds).

I did this while I was in town for 2 days––purposely for seeing the Doctor and getting the check-ups started––knowing I would be back on the road and that traveling would keep my mind off of the inevitable results report. And that's exactly happened. I forgot to look at my mail. I forgot about the bloodletting. I even forgot about the rash on my arm that I always get from the needle and tape. So how did I remember? My Wife went to pick-up her medication and was promptly handed 2 prescriptions for ME. Vitamin D and cholesterol medication. WTF?

I then went to my stack of mail and pulled out the fat envelope––not to be confused with a phat envelope of some shit I'd really like––and opened. White blood cell count––excellent. Sodium? Cool. 25 other symbols and checks and other crap that was all good. Until I hit LDL and HDL. I guess the road was full of "good eating". And I was full of bad cholesterol. Fucking great. But it did remind me of the time when I asked my oncologist during my chemo treatments about my cholesterol levels and should I be worried about it. Dr. Felice just smiled and said, "we're putting enough stuff into your body where your cholesterol levels should be the least of your worries". So it's either another round of chemo––no thank you––or taking medication.

I think I'll let the medication work through my blood for a while.

Gettin' Poked

No, I haven't switched to writing porn.

I'm talking about a date with a needle, one of many in the last two years with more to come. For the record, I hate needles. Which is not a good thing when you're going through chemo and radiation because of cancer. But here I was again, on Thursday of last week, getting a needle shoved into my arm for some blood work.

This all started Mother's Day, as I got real sick real fast after grillin' for the family. I had body aches, a very high fever and my throat was dry––drier than normal––and sore as hell. And that scared the crap out of me. When my throat gets jacked up, that's when I worry. So I went to the doctor's office of my GP. He was unavailable, so I had another Doc. Never seen her before. And she had never heard of my wild story of cancer––in my tonsils, caused by HPV, tube in my stomach for 10 months, gall blabber, etc.––so it was very uncomfortable for the both of us. Why? Ever notice when you're telling someone something that you THINK they should know about––in this case, some knowledge about cancer––and they look at you with that "whoa, this is new stuff to me!" kind of look? Yeah, that our conversation. And it didn't make me feel better at all.

She couldn't find anything wrong with me, testing me for strep throat and H1N1 flu. Nothin'. They didn't know what was wrong with me. That's when she suggested I see my oncologist. What the hell does that mean? I tried to listen to what else she had to say, but I was semi-shocked to hear her say that. You DO NOT want to hear, "I think you should see the cancer Doctors again again." So I asked her again, why do I have to see my oncologist? She said, "just like I said, it would be a good idea to see him." OK, I think it's a good idea that someone make me rich so I don't ever have to work again––but that doesn't mean jack shit. Just tell me, alright!

So I go get blood drained a week-and-a-half later. Blood work looks OK, but they want to do a closer look since I'm fatigued so much lately. What does that mean?

I will have to get poked again.