Crack In My Diagnosis Pt 2

Saturday April 11, 2009

8am, in my room and I'm being poked on by numerous nurses. They were focusing so much on my nausea that my bottom pain was being left untreated. My ointments (which were better than nothing) were at home - along with all my pain meds. No problem, right? I was in a hospital! They have all kinds of fun medications there. I told every nurse that came near me that my butt hurt. I needed pain medicine! Every nurse would check my chart and tell me the same thing...E.R. Dr. Doogie didn't write any orders for pain meds. I needed more reasons to dislike Doogie!

It was when the nurse came in with an IV bag full of strong antibiotics that I just about lost it. I knew my body well enough to know that bag was about to kick start some pretty serious diarrhea. The mere thought of what was about to happen to me without my meds had me close to clawing the eyes out of everyone that came near me. Tom was at home - he had left at some point in the middle of the night. I was all alone and feeling helpless.

My white knight came in the form of an awesome doctor by the name of Dr. Edwards. I've not one bad word to say about her (I know! I'm as shocked as you are!) Dr. Edwards is the hospital doctor and was in charge of taking good care of me. She wouldn't allow anyone in my room unless they were wearing a mask, gloves and booties over their shoes. I'm serious! There would be no further germs touching me in that there hospital - not under the watchful eye of (trumpets blasting) Dr. Edwards! (And the crowd goes wild! Woot!)

Dr. Edwards came in my room in an attempt to talk to me about my stomach virus. Can you imagine? I wanted no part of that discussion! I cut her off and told her that I had a fissure in my butt that was on fire. I pleaded with her to help me. She left my room, returned very quickly with a nurse and a shot for my IV. Oh yeah! AHHHH. Sweet relief. We were then able to talk about my tummy issues. I did have a fever but it was pretty low grade - hovering right around 100 degrees. This seemed to concern her, so she let me know she was going to keep me until the next day.

Saturday night was horrible. Even with the shots and the pain pills that Dr. Edwards prescribed, I could not get my butt pain under control. Something felt worse than normal, too. There was a fullness deep inside that was getting worse and I could feel a lump on the outside. I thought I was imagining it. Maybe the pain and all the pain meds were just making me crazy. Of course, feeling lumps everywhere on my body is pretty common now-a-days anyway. But the lump that I felt in my rear seemed so real. Out of desperation I swallowed my humiliation and told my nurse what I felt. I needed her to tell me there was nothing there. I needed her to tell me she felt no lump and it was all in my head. I needed her to look at my butt to see if she saw a lump.

I rolled over, slid off my undies and she saw it right away. She wasn't happy just saying she saw it either. Good heavens, no. Apparently if you see a lump on someone's butt you must also poke it and ask "is this is?" POKE! As she peeled me off the ceiling I was able to mumble yes. When shift change came, the night nurse told the day nurse about the lump she had seen on my rear end. Day shift nurse asked if she could see it too. Yeah, sure. "Is this it?" POKE! A couple hours later Dr. Edwards comes in. "Is this it?" POKE!

Dr. Edwards said she knew of the greatest butt doctor to ever walk the earth and would be contacting him right away. It was Easter Sunday so I figured I wouldn't see him until the following Monday...it gave me ample time to freak out about the butt lump. How wrong I was. I was told Dr. Graham would be in that evening to check (and poke!) my lump. In the mean time, the hospital had called in an infectious disease doctor. He was only supposed to care about my fever and stomach problems.

Sigh...what was one more "is this it?" POKE!

Tomorrow: Dr. Graham and the exam!

Crack In My Diagnosis Pt 1

I realize people aren't perfect. As often as I'm seeing doctors now, you'd know that not every diagnosis is going to be correct. I just didn't think so many doctors would be wrong about the same thing though. No, no, no, no, no, I still have cancer! But I am getting ahead of myself. You have to read my entire hospital story to find out what I'm talking about...

Friday April 10, 2009

2am I hear this: Mommmmmmmmy! I need you! I don't feel good!

It was Jacob and he had managed to throw up all over the bathroom. Unfortunately, he did it the same day my white blood cell count bottomed out. I hated it, but I had to stay away from my sick little man. Tom had to get up and clean the bathroom and take care of my baby boy. Oddly, I never heard any bathroom cleaning going on. I got up to see if we had gotten a self cleaning bathroom at some point - and...NOPE!

I trod downstairs and question Tom about when he might get around to cleaning the vomit that covered the bathroom door, floor, toilet, and wall. Tom said he had asked Jacob if he made it to the bathroom ok and Jacob said he had. Well, yeah, I guess technically he did - but just not into the toilet ok. To his credit, Tom did a fairly good job cleaning (I checked) he just forgot the bathroom door - so I thought it wouldn't hurt if I washed that up quickly myself before I crawled back in bed. I did wash my hands after I was done.

I'd been feeling ok all day. My only issue was the pain in my stupid butt. I had called Dr Young and told her I just couldn't take it anymore. The pain meds weren't working, nor were the creams. I needed something stronger for my fissure! She wrote me a script for morphine. 9pm I was throwing up. I wasn't sure if at first if I was sick because of the morphine or if I had caught Jacob's stomach virus. The worse I felt, the more I was sure it wasn't the pain pills...I was sick. My temp would never get above 100 degrees, but I called my doctor anyway and explained the situation. She told me to go to the ER and get checked - just to be safe.

You know you're a mess when you get to the hospital and are known by every ER nurse on duty. My favorite nurse Jen came out of the ER to get me when she saw my name. I love her. She's the one that was too scared to use my port - therefore was made fun of by another nurse when she put an IV in my arm. This time Jen wasn't going to be so lucky. My other favorite nurse was there that night too...Jason. Jason was a wonder-nurse with ports. He decided he would teach Jen how to prick a port. Jen reads my blog. (special secret message just to Jen: IT'S OK! NO ONE IS PERFECT! I'VE NO IDEA WHAT WENT WRONG, BUT YOU'VE GOT TO STOP APOLOGIZING AND FEELING BAD...SERIOUSLY!)

Any-o-hoo, the IV got started in my port after a couple efforts and in walked my ER doctor. The first thing you'd notice about my doctor was the insane amount of product the boy (yes, boy) used in his hair...the second thing you'd notice is that his name badge didn't say Doogie Howser - but it should have. He took the most thorough medical history of any doctor I've ever had. In. My. Life. But he wanted to make sure you remember he was very smart and a doctor. Example:

Doogie Howser: I'm your very smart and handsomely coiffed doctor today (flashes smile to prove almost all his adult teeth have grown in). I'm going to ask you 500 questions even though the answers are right here in my chart, mmmk?
Me: Sounds like a hoot.
DH: Let's get started, Mrs Strickland. First...when was the last time you h.a.b.m.
Me: Huh?
DH: (sighs) Last time you had. a. bowel. movement.
Me: I threw up a little in my mouth the last time you spoke...does that count?
DH: Do you have a history of h.d.h.b.p.c.t.a.e.w.y.m.o.o.s.w.y.l?
Me: Huh?
DH: (sighs and rolls eyes in disbelief that he would have to spell it out) You know... history of heart disease, high blood pressure, cruelty to animals, eating with your mouth open, or snorting when you laugh?

Somehow we made it through the questions without me walloping him (I was not in a great mood.) He ordered every lab known to man and left. When he returned he looked nervous and no longer sure of himself. He told me my white blood cell count was low - in fact he'd never seen anyone's so low before. Wow, none of his three total previous patients had low white blood cell count. Amazing. He genuinely had no idea how to treat a cancer patient. I made him extremely nervous. So what does a doctor do when he gets nervous? He admits you into the hospital. And that's just what Doogie did!

Because I have to have a special germ free room, I couldn't go right upstairs. My room had to be made ready for me and that was going to take a few hours. I was exhausted and so was Tom. My wonderful nurses were going to put Tom in his own little room in the ER and let him sleep while we waited, but he refused. They were kind enough to switch me from one of the little ER beds to a normal hospital bed so I could sleep comfortably while I waited. See why I loved these nurses?

8am my room was finally ready. I had no idea when they wheeled me upstairs I was going to be in the hospital for an entire week. I missed Easter with my family. It was a truly rough week. Part 2 tomorrow...

I'm Back!

Last Friday Tom took me to the ER for what turned out to be a slight virus. I just got home today! I had surgery Monday morning and am feeling better now than I have in a month. Right now all I want to do is relax with my family. I promise to blog-o my hospital stay starting tomorrow.

Yayyyyy! I'm home! Thank you, God!

Pain

It's almost 5am. I am going to take some time away from the blog until I can get out of chemo fog before I post again. The pain is keeping me awake. The pain is everywhere... it starts at my scalp and wraps itself around my neck, down my shoulders, deep into my spine and continues to move down my body. It has worked its way deep into every fiber of my being. I almost start crying because of the pain and self pity, but the tears hurt my eyes. The cure to my cancer is to literally have life sucked out of my body. Right now I wonder why I'm keeping this blog. Do I ever want to look back on this and relive it?

Chemo Sucks

Seriously! Chemotherapy sucks. I'm now going through the dreaded days after a chemo treatment again. I've read stories of women who never skipped a beat while going through chemo and radiation. Never missed a day of work. Me? If I'm not whining while lying on the couch, I'm whining with my head in a toilet or trashcan, or I'm whining while my butt is on the toilet.

I don't mean to harp on this subject time and again, but this still seems unreal. How did I end up with breast cancer? I wish God would let me in on my purpose for having this horrid disease. Pity party! Table for 1, please!

Anyway, short post tonight. As you can imagine, I'm too sick and tired to make a post. Pray tomorrow will get better. Most of my day today has been spent asleep. If there is anyway I can continue with this routine, you can rest assured, I will.

Good night and here's praying for a better tomorrow.

F.A.Q. Part 2

These are seriously some of my most emailed questions:

Hi Sheri! You have a beautiful head! I had no idea how perfectly shaped your head was until all your hair fell out. Speaking of your hair falling out...do you just lose just the hair on top of your head?

(this is my most commonly asked question at the moment) The answer is no. I will eventually lose all the hair on my body. While I'm not unhappy about not having to shave my legs for a few months - I find it hard to be that happy because I get in the shower and have no hair to shampoo. You can't imagine how weird it is to get in the shower and lean your head back in the water - you know, like you're going to wash your hair. But there is no hair there. (Habit.) I still use shampoo to wash my scalp though. I wonder about why I do that. Who knows. My next big sad moment will be when my eyebrows and eyelashes fall out.

When you finish chemo, are you going to have radiation?

Nope.

Why not?

I don't need it. As far as the doctors are concerned, every bit of my cancer was removed when I had my mastectomy. I also didn't have any cancer found in my lymph nodes. Radiation is not needed when there isn't a tumor to blast or no concern that some cancer was left behind. The doctors believe they got all mine. Hey! They've never been wrong before. Trust me...nothing to worry about.

How do you stay so strong through this?

Please feel free to ask me the names of the friends and family I call so that I can scream, cry and whine to them often. These are the people that might raise an eyebrow at how strong I am. I do fall apart. It ain't pretty.

I've heard you talk about a port or port-o-cath several times. What is that?

My port or port-o-cath was surgically put in place at the same time I had my mastectomy. It's in my chest close to my right arm pit area. It feels like a little plastic piece under my skin. The nurses poke a needle into it and clamps it down in order to give me my chemo meds which are fed to me through an IV. They didn't have to give me a port, but it makes life easier on everyone if I do have it. This way I don't have to have an IV put into my arm each treatment. Also, the chemo meds are really harsh and could tear up the veins in my arms. I posted an old picture I took of me with my fingers around my port.

What do you do while getting your chemo?

Nothing much. My main job is to sit there while they feed me the 3 chemo meds plus my drug trial medication one at a time, one after another. Last time I slept for awhile and I texted with friends on my phone. Basically I sit in a chair for 4+ hours doing nothing - so I do exactly what I do when I'm at home, but hooked up to an IV machine.

I feel so helpless to help you. How can I help?

You're perfect. You are reaching out to me and showing you love me. You're thinking about me and praying. I couldn't ask for more than that. Unless you want to come over and clean my toilets. I'll warn you now, though, Jacob seems to have one serious aim issue. What the heck is up with that? It's a huge target and he's close to it!

Can I do a fund raiser for you?

That is sweet and thoughtful, but not necessary. I'm very blessed with very good medical insurance. We have a yearly maximum out of pocket and we are able to cover that. I really thought this through and decided to have my cancer detected in January. Hopefully by the end of this year, this will all be a distant memory. I know you want to help, but really all I need are your prayers.

How soon after you get your chemo treatment do you start getting sick?

Pretty quickly. Couple hours. Last time I was wishing I had taken a barf bag with me for the drive home.

How long are you sick after your treatment?

Last time I was sick about 2 weeks and this third week was me whining about my fissure more than anything else. I feel certain y'all didn't get tired of my complaining about my torn anus.

There is a button and link on your blog now that says Mothers With Cancer. What's that all about?

I am so glad you asked me that! That is a super wonderful website called http://www.motherswithcancer.org/ and they have asked me to be a contributing writer for them. I've not written anything yet, because I've been too busy flipping out these last few days about my next upcoming chemo treatment. But I will get it done and hope you pop over there to read some of the other posts by these fantastic women who, like me, are mothers with or who have had cancer.

I love you!

Yeah, that's not really a question. But I love you, too.



P.S. Mad props to my cousin Valerie H. for bringing me the most perfect butt tube to sit on. I could actually sit up today without screaming in pain. She brought me other wonderful stuff, but that tube gave me such great comfort, I thought she deserved a shout out. More mad props go out to my dad who was the one who could figure out how to blow up that idiot thing. Val and I looked pretty stupid. It was tougher to blow up than you think, ok?

Thank You

I'm often times at a loss for words. How many different ways are there to say thank you? I'm back to say it again. In the mail I received a handful of gift cards from different restaurants in the area. The ones I just received came from a group of people called "The North America Sheri Fan Club". I had no idea there was such a thing. I would so totally join that club. And they know all my favorite places to eat. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you.

I've had plants and scarves and hats and cookies and fresh baked breads and meals and cash and gift cards from so many people. All of it has been appreciated so much. Every get well card that I've received is hanging on ribbons in my hallway. I love seeing them everyday and being reminded of all the people out there that care so much. Those are just the cards that have come in the mail. The emails* I get on a daily basis boggles my mind. At some point I lost the fight in trying to return each email I was sent. I've gotten so far behind and am overwhelmed in trying to get caught up that I've just given up. I still read my emails (I LOVE reading my emails everyday and yes, I've saved them all) everyday and am shocked that I still get so many. I love them all. I love receiving them and reading how so many are praying for me. *new email address = sheristrickland09@att.net

My day consists of checking my emails and my facebook emails, checking for comments on my blog, writing in my blog and reading my fellow cancer warriors' blogs. These women whose blogs I follow everyday are my support group. They leave me comments to ensure I keep up the good fight. I also find strength from reading their blogs. I pour my coffee in the morning, sit down and get caught up on everyone's cancer journey. My plan is always to go back at some point during the day and leave comments on their posts. I don't. I've no real excuse. There are days I finish reading and I've written my blog and I'm tired of cancer. Just don't want to deal with anymore cancer. Maybe that's why I've shut down on email responses too.

Suddenly my whole life has become cancer. Not just my life, but my family's life. I know Allison and Jacob get asked time and again how their mom is doing. Their teachers ask; parents of their friends ask; their friends ask! Even my children can't escape it. Besides people asking me how I'm doing, the most commonly asked question is how are the kids dealing with this. If they are upset, they are hiding it well. They seem fine. Both just brought home their report cards and both are still straight A students. They aren't acting out at school. My prayers for my children to deal with this in stride have been answered so far.

Today it was important for me that I tell everyone thank you, because I realized how crappy I've been at letting everyone know how much I appreciate them. I appreciate the gifts, kind words and mostly the prayers. Yesterday a fellow cancer fighter whose blog I loved - I found out her journey came to an end. I was devastated for many reasons. Selfishly a person fighting cancer never wants to hear about someone dying from cancer. But mostly I was sad that I never told her how much I loved her writing. She was one of those whose blog I followed, but never commented on. My heart and prayers go out to her husband and young son. She was a delight, and her death doesn't make sense to me. I'll miss her words greatly.

Does seem silly that I hadn't learned by now how short and unexpected life can be. I vow to make sure all the people I love, respect and hold dear in my life know I love, respect and hold them dear. I say thank you to Manda for opening my eyes. I loved you when you were alive...you just didn't know it.

I'll Bring the Whine

I want one day without pain. One day that I don't wake up and and my first thought is that I have cancer. There is a never ending list of things that need to be done and I am just now feeling like I'm physically able to do them. You know how depressing it is to know that in just a few days I've got to have chemo pumped into my body again?

It's the pain that is wearing me out right now. Honestly, if it weren't for the stomach and rear end pain, I'd be fine. My bottom hurts pretty much all the time now due to my lovely fissure and screwed up digestive system. I told Dr. Young I was willing to finish chemo before scampering off to get my fissure fixed. I'm really questioning that now. In a matter of a few days my diarrhea is going to get much, much worse. I know with that will come the peel-me-off-the-ceiling fissure pain.

On a brighter note, my energy level is up somewhat. Or it is when I'm not downing so dang many pain pills. Trust me, I know what you are thinking - I'm worried about becoming addicted to the silly things, too! If anyone has any advice to help me get through the pain without the use of percocet and oxymorphone, I am more than willing to listen. I can't sit or lie down in any comfortable fashion anymore. Hours sitting in a hot bath and the ointment just ain't cutting it anymore.

Anywho! With my new found somewhat energy I did get out of the house on Sunday. We went out to eat and then I did a very slow stroll through the mall. I wanted to get out of the house, but I was scared. This was going to be my first outing without hair. I wanted to wear one of my wigs, but I will confess to not liking them very much. I find them hot and itchy. As my scalp gets more used to not having hair, I might be better able to tolerate the wigs. Right now my favorite thing is scarves. They are lightweight, soft, and pretty (wow, did anyone else notice I just described myself?)

So, I went out to eat wearing a scarf on my bald head and my fear came true. I did get stared at. It was a little shocking to look around and see people quickly looking down; to see people staring at me out of the corner of my eye; to see a husband and wife looking over at me and whispering. It's very clear that I have cancer. I look like a cancer girl now. I was uncomfortable (until my big ol plate of ribs came, then I really didn't care about all those people anymore.) I did try to get inside the mind of the people I caught looking. One woman in particular seemed unable to stop looking at me. I finally put myself in her place and saw her sitting there with two young children just as I was. She was probably about the same age as me and perhaps she was staring at a woman that could have easily been her.

I told this to a friend and they said everyone was staring because of my unbelievable beauty. I like that idea better.

Hair

I thought I was prepared. The thing most talked about since I found out I had cancer was the thing that happened today. I lost my hair. All of it. It had been coming out more and more and I had a few bald spots here and there, but today was almost like a horror movie for me. My scalp and my hair were hurting worse than normal. Yes! My hair actually hurt! Several days ago Tom and I actually had this conversation:

Me: This is driving me crazy! I can feel my hair (hair in my hands and I'm pulling on it lightly)

Tom: I can see you feeling your hair.

Me: NO! I mean my hair can feel!

Tom: (looking at me like I'm insane) Right...you are feeling your hair.

Me: My. Hair. Has. Feeling.

Tom: I have no idea what you are trying to say.

Me: Forget it.

Tom: I'll try. Believe me. I'll try.

Me: My hair hurts.

Tom: (Deeeeep long sighhhhhh)

Today I got in the shower and when I pulled my hands out from lathering my hair, it looked like most of my hair was attached to my hands. It didn't seem real. I kept rinsing my hands and putting them back in my hair and bringing them back out only to see more and more hair coming out. I rinsed my hair then reached up to lightly touch my head. It felt like all my hair was still there. Ok, maybe that was it, I thought. Maybe that's all that is going to come out today. I thought I'd test to see how fragile my hair situation was and pulled together small bunch of hair - about 20 or 30 strands. I gently tugged on the little ponytail of hair and the whole dang thing came free from my scalp.

I started crying. This was it. This was the next step in the process. I couldn't believe how easily my hair was falling out. The slightest touch would detach the hair from my head. I stayed in the shower as long as I could - crying and mourning the loss of my hair. I've always loved my hair. There was not a hairstyle I couldn't do with my hair. Even at it's longest I could curl it and it would hold curl. It was thick and dark and easy to take care of. I'm told when you finish chemo your hair will come back in differently than what you've had before. They say if you had straight hair, your new hair will come back in curly and perhaps a different color. I don't don't want curly or a different color. I want what I had.

Another reason I wasn't ready to lose my hair was simply because it will now become harder to hide the fact that I am a cancer patient when I go out in public. Unless I'm looking especially good that day, I don't want people staring at me. Plus, every time I look in the mirror I'll see a sick woman looking back.

Anyway...I got out of the shower and left behind a mound of hair. I got dressed then slowly started brushing my hair. I could see big bald spots forming and my hair was looking extremely thin in some places. I went downstairs in tears and told Tom I needed to get my head shaved. Thankfully I didn't cry the entire time I was getting my hair buzzed off. It was traumatic and terrible.

I wasn't sure how the kids would react, so I thought I'd make it as easy on them as possible. I had on a wig when they walked in the door. Jacob didn't pay much mind to it, but Allison was curious as to why I was wearing the wig. I bent my head down and told her to pull the wig off. She very carefully grabbed the wig and pulled it off. The look of sadness in her eyes almost got me crying again. I sat there a long time waiting for Jacob to notice. Finally I had to tell him to look at me. I believe his exact remark was "Oh wow, does this mean you started chemo today?" I laughed. I love that his 7 year old mind still isn't able to process exactly what is going on with me.

I'll now continue on my journey wearing wigs, scarves and silly hats. God has my hand.

The (Rear) End

Part 4

You know what the problem with cancer is? The problem for me anyway... I never felt sick. One day I think I'm fine - I have no pain, fatigue, blurry vision, loss of appetite, ingrown toenails - nothing! Then some doctor comes along and says the word cancer - your whole life changes forever. Because of two cancerous tumors in my left breast, I will live the rest of my life being called a breast cancer survivor. No finer group of women are there in the world than the breast cancer survivors I've met. But I don't want to join your group. Everyday I want to figure out how to mail back my membership card and say "forget this mess!"

I'm not whining, really, I'm angry. Though I smile knowing all the women whose lives I've touched just by telling my story so far. There are women out there getting mammograms because of me. How cool is that? The problem is, I'm just getting them to the doctor - if they have cancer the nightmare begins for them. All I can do is send people to the doctor to find out if they already have this horrid disease or not. I'd much rather someone call me up to tell me they read my story and got their "breast cancer prevention shield".

I hate this disease. I do. I hate it. I hate that every woman on the planet has to worry about this. No one is safe. You can't have this disease 'just a little bit'. Cancer has 4 stages. My cancer is only a stage 2 and I've lost both my breasts and I've got to go through chemotherapy. Imagine what it must be like for the stage 3 and 4 women. My point: go get a mammogram.

Anyway! When last we left off, it was Friday night at the emergency room. My ER doctor (Sue as she wanted to be called) tells me she's going to check everything possible to figure out what is causing my fever. As I've been in the ER, my temp has steadily climbed. I was shivering, I was so cold, but my nurse Jason wouldn't let me have any blankets, because he said my shivering was from my high fever. I was miserable, but hopeful of going home that night. Each test they ran kept coming back negative. Finally Sue came in and announced they were going to admit me to the hospital. Crap!

They couldn't figure out what was causing the fever, which continued to climb and my blood pressure continued to drop. I'm going by memory here, but I believe when they were wheeling me upstairs to my room my temp was 102.5 and blood pressure was something like 85/50.

When they got me to the patient rooms, they realized there just wasn't any room for me. I got stuck in the hallway for what seemed forever before they finally found a room for me. My new room was lovely, but they told me not to get too comfortable - I was supposed to be in an isolation room - there just were none available at that moment. They said they were getting one ready and would move me as soon as they possibly could. Meanwhile I continued to feel worse. They were able to slowly get my blood pressure to go back up, but it was taking awhile. Due to my low blood pressure they were unable to give me anything for pain. They were also struggling to get my fever down. It would go down for a moment, but then pop right back up again.

It was after midnight and Tom and the kids were still with me in my little temporary room. Tom wanted to stay until I got settled in my new room, but I finally talked him into taking the kids home. I said I would call in the morning to let him know my new room number. Right after they left 3 nurses came in and said an isolation room was ready, but they were going to move me to the ICU first. I stayed in the ICU all that night and until mid morning when my fever finally started dropping and staying down. My blood pressure had gone back up to it's normal 115/80, so I got to finally move into my isolation room. It was an exhausting night.

I really thought they were going to release me that day. They were sending up a doctor who specialized in butt problems to confirm my fissure diagnoses. My fever was gone and blood pressure was steady. If it weren't for the wicked pain in my rear, I would have felt great. And then the diarrhea hit. With each bout of diarrhea it felt like fire was ripping through me. I was begging for pain meds, but the butt doctor said no. He gave me a bottle of numbing ointment and told me he could numb me up or I could do it myself. I painfully did it myself. It took about 5 minutes and I felt amazingly better! Which meant time for him to give me a thoroughly good exam. But! by doing so he found my nasty fissure.

I asked him what I should do about it, because there wasn't much I could do to control my diarrhea. I explained about the chemo destroying my digestive system. Surgery, he said, I needed surgery to have it repaired. This just keeps getting better. He did know of a cream though that would help until I could get the needed surgery, but it would take a day or two to get it mixed up special for me. The cream ended up working famously! Dr Young said I could have the surgery, but I would have to pause chemo while I did that. No thanks! I want to get chemo finished!

Ok, so butt problem taken care of, all I needed was to get out of the hospital. I had already spent one night there and was ready to go. They had told me that they thought the fever was brought on only because of my white blood cell count dropping so low. It didn't appear I had any infection anywhere. When the doctor came to visit me Saturday, I expected him to tell me I was going home. Nope. He wanted to keep me another day. Sunday though, he kept his word and released me around 4pm that afternoon.

I was never so grateful to be home.

Chills!

Part 3

Friday

March 20, 2009

I was home from the hospital, but unable to get out of bed. I was either extremely hot or cold and unable to stay awake for longer than half an hour at a time. The pain in my rear wasn't getting any better either. Tom was home, thankfully, so whenever I needed anything I would call his cell phone and he would run upstairs with my ginger ale or medication. He kept trying to get me to eat something, but I absolutely couldn't. I figured it was just the pain that was making me feel so sick.

After the third time or so of shaking chills, I decide to take my temperature. When you are receiving chemo they tell you time and again to check for a fever. Chemo meds kill your white blood cells which fight off infection. Without those white blood cells your body has a tough time increasing your body temperature - so when you do get a fever it means something bad could be going on. I believe my doctor told me that a regular person's 100.5 temp is equal to 103 in a cancer patient. With that being said, I was instructed to call the doctor's office anytime my temp hit 100.5 and stayed there for an hour OR call instantly should it get as high as 101.

I took my temperature and it was 100.5. I went downstairs and show Tom the thermometer. He stares speechless at it then goes shuffling around in a cabinet until he finds another thermometer and has me take my temp again. The second reading came back as 100.9. Tom put that thermometer back and decides he liked the first one better. Since I have to wait an hour before taking my temp again, I decide to go back to bed. When I woke up my temperature was 101.2. Time to call the doctor.

I talked to my doctor's partner who gave me an option of going to the emergency room or she could just call in a prescription for an antibiotic. Remember now, I'm nervous girl...I'm scared of making the wrong decision and it affecting the outcome of my life. My LIFE is what I'm dealing with here. I tell the doctor I want to go to the hospital and play it safe - plus, I really did feel awful. And my butt hurt. Unfortunately, Tom disagreed with my decision immensely. I was too tired to fight about it, and just had the doctor call in the prescription while I went back to sleep.

Tom left to go pick up the antibiotic. While he was gone the doctor found my chart and called back. Seems when I left the hospital the day before, they did blood work on me and my white blood cell count was extremely low. Since my white blood cell count was so low and my temp was continuing to rise, she told me I had to go to the ER.

Frustration was written all over Tom's face. I had just been released from the hospital the day before and now here I was about to get admitted again less than 24 hours later. He was tired and this time we didn't have family in town to help out with our children. I let him choose which St Luke's we should go to. He likes the one in Overland Park which is much smaller and much closer to our house, so that is where we went. This time, though, their emergency room was busy and I was sure I was going to have to wait forever to be seen. They checked me in pretty quickly; put a mask over my face; sent me to the waiting room and made me wait almost 5 minutes. I got called back ahead of everyone else in the joint.

Once back in my little patient room I met Jason - another amazingly great nurse at St Luke's Hospital. He was funny, nice, understanding and knew how to use a chemo port. I told Jason about the last time I was in that ER and how my nurse didn't know how to use my port. I said she ended up being made fun of by another nurse. Shortly after telling him this story, the nurse from that night came in my room! She said she saw my name and came running in to tell me hello and share her good news. Last time I was there I had told her about the miracle of my cancer being caught so early. I could tell it kind of freaked her out, because she's the same age as me. She said she had to come in my room when she saw I was back to let me know she went right out and got a mammogram. It came back clear. Praise God!

God has given me a most horrible disease, but by doing so He's led me to meet some of the most wonderful people. Another example would be the doctor who treated me in the ER that night. Her name was Sue (I'm really trying to remember names now.) Sue and I bonded instantly over our displeasure of having to live in a city without a Jack in the Box restaurant. Of course, after that talk, Sue decided she wanted to see what was causing so much pain in my bottom. I'll just say that was an unpleasant exam and leave it at that. It was too painful for me for her to do a full exam, but her best guess was a fissure. And... they were going to have to admit me to the hospital... Sigh.

Part 4 tomorrow...

Well.... Poop!

My butt, pt 2 (giggling)
Monday
March 16, 2009 4:30pm

Off I went to the hospital to get the nausea and vomiting and diarrhea taken care of. Living with that kind of sickness was out of the question. I couldn't do it. I wouldn't do it, I mean. I could, I suppose - once there was a time people didn't have a choice. Dr Young assured me I didn't have to be sick. Funny the whole ride to the hospital I wondered how much of that sickness was my own fault for choosing the more aggressive treatment. There were many reasons Tom was displeased about having me admitted into the hospital, and I decided it was my own best interest not to ask what they were specifically.

Even though we were heading into downtown and away from the heaviest traffic, we were still driving into the big city at rush hour. I was so afraid I wasn't going to be able to make it to the hospital without having to stop somewhere along the way. Somehow, someway, we made it to the hospital in one piece. What we didn't know, though, was where we were supposed to check in. We knew "cancer center" "patient short stay" "5th floor". This hospital is huge! It's three massive buildings attached together with sky walks. We've no clue. When you don't know where to go... you guess. First building, 5th floor? Wrong. Ok, so we'll try another building and its 5th floor. And we were going to do just that...as soon as we found the sky walks. We had literally walked in circles by the time we found the sky walks.

Looking down those sky walks was like looking into a great abyss. I couldn't make it. I really couldn't! Tom found a hallway waiting area and told me to have a seat while he ran off and grabbed a wheelchair. My legs were like rubber bands; my head was foggy and I thought I could pass out soon; I had nausea; my diarrhea had returned - but I looked down at those waiting room chairs and decided, maybe I'm not feeling that bad after all - I'd stand. Tom was relatively quick with the chair and we had no problem finding the cancer center after that.

They were expecting me. Zipped me right into one of the ugliest hospital rooms in the world. Two nurses were working on me at once. One was asking questions while the other was getting ready to shove some giant needles into my port-o-cath. I tell them I need to go to the bathroom so could they please hurry this along? They were very understanding - in fact one nurse was so darn sweet she came into the bathroom with me to place some toilet inserts in my potty. Two of them. I was honestly confused. I had to do one of those "pssstt.. um, uh, yeah, your insert is blocking where my poop is supposed to land."

"No, Sheri. THAT is where your poop is supposed to land"

"Nuh uh." I think was my clever response.

Nurse leaves and I'm left on my own. I knew what they wanted and why, but I was not going to do it. I calmly walk over to the toilet, reached down and removed their nifty little inserts, did my business, replaced the inserts, washed my hands, and crawled back into my hospital bed.

After I was back in bed one nurse acted like it was Christmas morning and went galloping into the restroom to see what magical things had been left for her. I almost felt bad for ruining her Poopfest. "You couldn't go?" She asked me.

"No, I did." I told her " I just couldn't go in your bucket. I'm not going to poop in your bucket." Nurse tried to cut me off so she could explain why this was so important and I cut her off. "Listen" I explained "that is a shallow plastic bucket thing and what I have can only be described as explosive." I left her speechless.

It was decided that now wasn't the best time to force this issue on me. One nurse was still trying to get all tubes, hoses, needles, monitors and whatnot attached when there was a knock on the door. My nurse told them to go away, because she was busy. A little voice called out that it was Dr Young. My nurse actually told her to go away and come back later when I wasn't so busy. And she did. I was most impressed that Dr Young showed up so quickly after I arrived at the hospital. She has completely won my approval again.

When Dr Young returned we talked for a long time about all the different medications that were out there and how she will do whatever I need her to do to make this as pain-free as possible. I told her I was exhausted and needed the vomiting and nausea to stop so I could sleep. With that said, Dr Young called in the nurse who pumped my IV line full of three different medications. I don't remember much else until later that night when they brought in my dinner.

My dinner tray consisted of roast hen, stuffing, broccoli, salad, and pie. I looked up at the nurse...seriously? Were they trying to kill me? She said she ordered me the wrong type of meal. Duh. The nurse let Tom have that tray of food while I got to enjoy my lukewarm broth and jello. Tom announced it was the best hospital food he'd ever eaten. That actually made me happy. Anyone who knows Tom, knows he loves food, so I knew he wasn't completely miserable.

As the night wore on, I got sicker. I felt horrible guilt about leaving Abby and Lola to babysit my children. I called her and apologized, but she assured me the children were all getting along famously and was happy to be there to help out. What else could she say, really? Admit that this did suck for her and tell me to get my butt home? I told Tom to go on home. He said no, he wanted to stay and make sure I was ok. They brought in a cot for him, but he ended up sleeping in a chair while I was up sick most of the night.

My stomach was cramping so much that the pain was almost unbearable at times. They kept offering me pain meds, but I told them to stop worrying so much about my pain and deal with what brought me there - the diarrhea and nausea. Besides, I told them, if they gave me anything for pain, it was only going to make me that much more nauseous. Nurse change happened and I met my favorite nurse at that hospital. Kim.

Kim walked into my room that night and announced that I was in extreme pain. She looked at my chart and told me Dr Young had approved pain meds whenever I needed them. I knew that, I told her, but... Kim didn't let me finish. She left only to return with a shot of morphine, which I got before I could protest. I had suffered all day needlessly. That shot did multiple things: eased my pain, stopped the diarrhea and calmed my nausea. Thank you, God. And thank you, Kim for being a nurse for 18 years and knowing more than me about what I needed.

Each day in the hospital was spent tweaking different anti-nausea medicines so we could find the perfect combination to use after my next chemotherapy treatment. It wasn't an easy process and anytime it got too rough for me, I went back to my old friend Mr. Morphine. On Thursday, Dr. Young did tell me she was pretty pleased with the drug cocktail we'd finally put together for the nausea, but sadly, there was nothing she could do for the diarrhea. It appeared the chemo had totally destroyed my digestive system. It happens, she said, and sometimes it does correct its self after you finish chemo. Lovely. Simply lovely.

On Thursday, I was so happy to be going home from the hospital I failed to mention to Dr Young that I had suddenly developed a wicked pain in my butt with my diarrhea. I just wanted to go home. I just wanted to be with my children. That pain would go away, I was sure. Once home, though, things only got worse. I was away from my precious morphine shots and all it took was that first trip to the restroom for things to come crashing down again. It was like someone had taken a butcher's knife and sliced it into my rear end then sadistically started pouring jalapeno juice into the wound. The pain hit me so hard it caused me to throw up.

I was able to get off the toilet, barely, and fill my bathtub up with hot water. The pain was insane. I would only get out of the tub long enough to go to the restroom before practically leaping back in to soak. No clue how long I was in there, but finally Tom came in to check on me. I told him what was going on and he left to go get me hemorrhoid cream. Finally relief was on the way. If there is anyone out there who has ever had a fissure, you know how bad things are about to get, right? Don't put hemorrhoid cream into an open wound. You've just added lemon juice and salt to your jalapeno juice.

Screams could be heard around the world!

Part 3 tomorrow

What Were We Talking About Last?

Where were we?

Let's see:

Friday: Chemo

Saturday: Head in toilet; sister-in-law in town with my nieces and her mother. Hi, Abby, Ashley, Christa, and Lola!

Sunday: Head in toilet; guests still here, but they're spending their vacation by cleaning my house. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you.

Monday: Head deeper in toilet; admitted to hospital; guests at my house babysitting my kids.

Tuesday: Still in hospital; guests still babysitting.

Wednesday: Still in hospital; guests heading home. Bye, Abby, Ashley, Christa, and Lola! I love you! When you get home, don't forget to tell my brother hello and that I love him.

Thursday: Home from hospital, but have sore throat. Suddenly have developed a wicked pain in my butt (more on this later).

Friday: In bed all day sleeping, sick or in pain. Started running a fever so had to call oncologist. Back in hospital.

Saturday: In hospital

Sunday: HOME!

I'm home. You can't know how happy I am to be home. This level of happiness is matched only by the amount of pain I'm feeling in my bottom right now. This past week's hospital stays and pains and sickness will be reported, but first I give you the story of my butt and the things that have happened to it since I last posted.

(This is for you, Jeneil)...

It's Monday and I have eaten something I shouldn't have eaten (food) and I'm running to the bathroom about every 15 or so minutes. Tom was at work and Abby had taken the 4 kids out for ice cream and toys. It was just Lola and me in the house. The bathroom on my first floor where Lola and I were watching TV is near the living room, so I was opting to run upstairs every time I needed to go. If I just had diarrhea I would have used the downstairs bath, but since I was never sure if I was going to vomit - up I would go to my master bathroom. (I can't handle listening to anyone throw up, therefore I wasn't going to subject Lola to that either.)

Each jog upstairs had me feeling weaker and wobblier, so I was trying to make each trip count by staying as long as I could. Spike, my dog, followed me each trip. It is Spike's job in this house to keep people from breaking in and killing me. He is 7 pounds of pure Maltese terror. Spike was tired, too, from the up and down bathroom trips so while I was going to the restroom, he would nap. Spike hates the tile floors in the bathrooms, but still refuses to let me out of his sight. This day he found a work around for his tile issue.

One of my last trips up, I'm there sitting on the potty for an extended amount of time. By the time I go to stand it almost cost me my life. I was so weak and so exhausted, I hadn't realized that Spike had made his bed in my pajama bottoms between my feet. When I stood up I lost my balance. I almost fell face first onto the hard tile floor. I'm not sure how I kept myself from falling, I just remember hopping around and accidentally kicking the dog halfway across the bathroom. A child shouldn't have to tell people their mom died because she didn't notice the family dog nested in her pants while she sat on the toilet for half an hour.

It was after that trip to the restroom, I called my oncologist - begging for help. They said the best way they could help me was to go to the hospital - they'd have a room waiting for me. By Thursday what they finally managed to do was stop the vomiting, but not the diarrhea, which by the way, had caused my colon to finally surrender. A tiny little thing called a fissure had formed. That fissure is the thing that nightmares are made of.

Part 2 tomorrow.

(Yes, there was going to be so much more to this, but I am unable to think clearly enough to write. The fissure pain is truly severe and the pain meds I'm taking for it are powerful. I've great stories to tell, I'm just unable to get them written tonight. But I will! I promise!)

Fever

I'm trying to update my little blog here, but it's always one thing after another. Today I just don't feel well. I am actually falling asleep while typing! Usually I don't find myself that boring, but tonight I have a fever of 101.2 and am just going to call it a night.

I was just told to go to the ER and get admitted.

I think we know the way.......

Home...

Thursday afternoon and I'm finally home from the hospital. I can tell chemo is just gonna be a hoot! I'm going to spend some time with my children, catch up on phone calls then take a nap. After I do all that, I plan to update my little blog on my thrilling roller coaster ride of a hospital stay (wasn't really that exciting, but if people think it might have been they'll return.)

Geez, it's good to be home!

Thanks for all the love, support and especially for keeping me in your prayers (and you're in mine.) I truly do have the best family, friends and blog followers in all the world.

Hospital...

Today is as bad as I've been. I'm leaving my house now to get admitted into the hospital to get this under control.

No worries.

I'll be back blogging soon.

F.A.Q. of My Chemo

It is officially the middle of the night. I wasn't going to blog, but I'm up and sick. Remember as you read this that I am so very tired, very sick, and sick and sick and sick and sick...

Dear Sheri,

Why are you receiving chemotherapy when you've had your breasts whacked off? Didn't they get all the cancer when they removed your breasts?

That's a very good question! They believe they did, yes. The chemo is given as an insurance policy. Cancer can sometimes escape from it's captive area through your blood and the doctors don't know about it. Yes, it's true, doctors do not know everything.

I see. So what does chemo do exactly?

Well, chemotherapy medicine targets all fast splitting cells in your body. Cancer cells love to divide rapidly! This is fun for them. Which still shocks me that they would end up in my body. Anyone who knows me knows there is nothing quick about me or my body. My motto has always been to embrace your inner lazy. But whatever! Too late for me to hate the cancer anymore than I already do.

Why does chemo make your hair fall out?

Hair grows by rapidly splitting cells. Chemo med doesn't know the difference between good cells and bad, so it goes and gets em all.

How often do you receive your treatments?

I will get a total of 6 treatments spaced 3 weeks apart. They need time between each treatment for your body to heal and feel better before pumping it it back full of poison. So, basically, by the time I get to feeling better from this last treatment, I'll be ready for my next one. FUN!

The Day After

In all fairness, they did try to warn me. The nurses, I mean. Oh, sure, these women were offering up all their advice and knowledge to me about chemo, but how much did they really know? They've worked in the chemo ward for 15 - 20 years. Yeah, so? Have they ever had the poison pumped into THEIR bodies? Heck, no.

Why the bitterness, you might ask? I'll tell you why! Because I was told this isn't like the olden age of chemo! You don't receive your treatment then spend the next few months sick as a dog. There are far too many types of anti-nausea medications out there. If the four we give you this week don't help, by golly, we have a bazillion others to choose from. We'll tweak until we get it right. That's all well and good, ladies, my dear nurse friends who have never gone through this, but - What. About. Me. Right. Now?

It's Saturday! I'm suffering! All day long. Ok, I can't get comfortable. My whole body feels like it's been chewed up by a wood chipper, spit out, glued back together, run over by a steam roller, then bounced on like a trampoline - which is all perfectly normal. They're sorry I'm aching and tired, but we'll control your urge to hurl. Well, guess what? YOU DIDN'T. It was 4 or 5am that I woke up sicker than I've felt in possibly my whole life.

It was before Christmas I was told it was nothing to worry about. Now three months later I'm sitting on the potty with a trash can between my legs - thinking about all the doctors and nurses who down played this all the way. Would I have really wanted to know in December - almost exactly three months ago - I would be sitting sitting like this? Would I have wanted to know that I would end up typing on a public blog about a most humiliating position?

It takes a very close friend to discuss your diarrhea with, but I sit here tonight telling the world that I not only had diarrhea happening to me, but I was projectile shooting out the other end at the same time. All this with four different types of anti-nausea medicines engulfing my body. My brain is unable to wrap itself around how bad off I'd be if I had not been on any medication at all.

Knowing I had cancer in December? Not knowing how I would have felt to find out that early? Which meds might have worked? Right this minute? I don't know the answers - and it doesn't matter anyway. The best advice I've been given so far is 2 things: first is to start a countdown to my last chemo treatment (it's somewhere down on the bottom of the page here) and the second is along the same line - don't look at it as day by day, but as 5 minute by 5 minute.

Chemotherapy

Yeah, Chemotherapy stinks. I've posted pictures of me starting out all happy in the chemo room and ending my day stuck in my bathroom.

This has been one of the longest days of my life. So many things happened and I will tell you about them - but not tonight. I'm going to spend the rest of the night with my head in the toilet.

Before I go, I will say, once again, that all the emails I got today were mind blowing. No, I've not responded back, but I've read them all. If y'all were trying to make me feel like I'm the most blessed and loved person on the planet - job well done. I've tried to respond back to all my facebook comments. Email responses will happen, but not as quickly as I would like.

Tomorrow my beautiful sister-in-law and my equally beautiful and very wonderful nieces will be here from Texas. I will be rejoicing in my time with them, but fear not, I've not forgotten the rest of y'all. I do not take for granted one single email, card, phone call or prayer. God has given me the best family and friends. I keep y'all in my thoughts and in my prayers always. I love you!

Sending love from my chemo nightmare,

Sheri

Note: the photos got mixed up, obviously, and I'm too sick and tired to figure out how to fix the problem. It's possible I do not know what I'm doing here.

Tests and More Tests Part 2

After my chat with Dr Young, I got to get a tour of the chemotherapy room. The picture I've put here is what a really nice chemo room looks like. The one I toured wasn't quite so nice, but the idea is the same. A group of recliners all lined up in a row with little curtains to separate you from your cancer neighbor. Everyone gets their own pole to hang their chemo drip on and also everyone gets ... uh ... well, that's about it. A chair, a pole and a curtain. What more could you need?

After my tour a nurse went through all my medications and wrote down when I needed to take what pill and how much. 5 scripts later and a post-it note of very confusing instructions, I'm pushed out the door and down the hall to the heart center. Almost home free.

Almost no waiting in there either. I'm called back by the super model of EKG givers. "Hey, Sheri, I'm Jeremy" (Funny I can't remember the names of anyone else that day, but I remember his. Not sure what that's all about.) "I'm going to give you your EKG today." We go into our little patient room and I hop up on the table. Jeremy asks that I get down because he's forgotten to put the paper protector down first. Then he hands me my little hospital gown and tells me I only need to undress from the waist up. He leaves the room.

I change and Super Model Jeremy comes back in and tells me to hop up on the table. Is this a test? I look at him. "Oh, I forgot to put paper on the table. I'll be right back. Ok?" I think I mumbled something about him being dreamy and he papers my table...just for me...only dropping the paper once.

On the table and Jeremy is trying to keep my little gown closed where my breasts used to be while he puts my little EKG probes all over me. I finally tell him I have no modesty problems since there is nothing there. Ok, to let the gown be open. It was at this time that Jeremy felt obligated to comment on my chest. "Yeah, uh, looks like your scars have really healed up nicely." Oh, Jeremy, you charmer.

Test took all of about 5 minutes and I'm dressed and out the door. Jeremy says they are done with me and wished me good luck and stuff. Yayyyy! Testing is DONE! I was hungry and ready to get home. My cousin Rachel was at the house to greet the children when they got off the bus, so the kiddos were fine, but I was ready to get home. (Thank you, Rachel!)

At some point after getting home, my cell phone rang but I didn't hear it. I pick up my message and it's the heart center - they had left me an urgent message saying they need me to call them back NOW! Oh crap. Now what? I call and am sent around the center twice before I finally get back on the phone with my ol pal Jeremy. He remembered me. I can't say I'm surprised - we really bonded with that scar conversation. I explained to him that I had been left a message by some woman and there was a problem. Did he know what was going on? No, no he did not, but he'd check. Time. Stood. Still.

Jeremy returns to the phone with my chart in hand and says that everything looks dandy to him. He has no idea why they called. I patiently ask him to please find out what is going on. OHHH! Now he sees it. He forgot to give me my heart echo test. Oopsy. He said they were closing, but maybe I could get in to the other St Luke's heart center. Give em a call, k? Cause you can't get chemo til you get that test. Ok, and good luck and stuff.

The other heart center was able to squeeze (hee!) me in the next day at 5:00 that evening.

Thank, God.

My chemotherapy begins tomorrow promptly at 9:30am. You do not want to be in this house with me tonight. The word "stress" doesn't begin to describe what I'm feeling tonight. No one is safe. Every so often a slice of cheesecake is passed my way and I hear someone running quickly away. I've taken two of my "happy" pills and am thinking that wasn't enough. Maybe I'll sew the head back on Tigger, rename him Jeremy and release some stress that way.

Peace out.