This period of my life tastes like Jolly Ranchers. I probably won’t ever be able to eat them again.
One of the first real physical signs that shit was getting real after my diagnosis was having to have a port placed in my chest. I had to go the hospital where an interventional radiologist used conscious sedation in the operating room to implant a device where I would receive my chemo infusions and have blood drawn. Honestly, it seems ridiculous now as I think about it, but I really had imagined something akin to the top of one of the kids’ applesauce pouches sticking out from my chest. So, it was nowhere near that, a lot less noticeable than I thought it would be, but I still hated it from the very beginning. I can feel it. I don’t like the feeling.
But, compared to the alternative, it’s certainly better. It saves you from having to be stuck dozens of times and the chemo drugs I was on are vesicants, which means that they cause the tissue to blister and die if not appropriately administered. (Remember the “figure out what will kill me and back it off a little”? Yeah, that.)
Sigh. After the diagnosis, so much of this process has felt like having to choose between two shitty options. Not even the lesser of two evils - just two shitty options.
So anyway, back to the Jolly Ranchers. Whenever they “flush the port” which involves a bunch of saline, I get a metallic taste in my mouth. I don’t understand how it even works but it weirds me out. So I started taking Jolly Ranchers with me to try to drown out the taste. It works. Mostly.
I had my follow up appointment with my oncologist today. I brought the Jolly Ranchers again. It was the last time I’ll do blood work with my port (we hope*). As I turned into the parking lot, my stomach starting doing flips. Ah yes, we remember how this usually goes at this particular building - the Cancer Institute. I’m still coming to terms with being a cancer patient. That title hasn’t worked its way into my identity yet.
All the bloodwork looked great. It was jarring to see everything return to normal normal (not just the extremely low end of normal) in just a few weeks. Now on to surgery next week. I’m feeling some major trepidation about this particular surgery. I know it’s necessary, but I’m not thrilled about it. More shitty options.
* I say “we hope” because, although the scans have been very encouraging so far, we won’t know for sure how well the chemo worked until the pathology report after surgery comes back. So I don’t even get to have my port out until a month or so after surgery. “Just in case.”
The “just in case” is just in case there was a bunch of cancer left behind that didn’t show up on the scans and I have to do chemo again after surgery. The odds are really long of that happening - we have every indication that it worked so far. But as you know, I don’t trust statistics anymore.