Powerports, Chemo and Bambi, Oh My!

One of these things is not like the other… Asher had a good chuckle when he discovered this visual reminder of my “chemo brain.”

I spent most of last week wobbly and confused. For some reason I generally refused to give in to my fatigue and nausea and just lie down. Mom always said I was too nosy for my own good and, as usual, she’s right.

Motherhood makes it hard to let go. When you have three kids and a husband all doing different things at different times and the phone is ringing, well, what do you do? Even though your family has told you to go relax, you get up and answer the phone, and trundle into the kitchen to wash some dishes, and wander around vacantly with half an armload of laundry, and eventually find yourself at the grocery store quietly retching because you looked at the bloody ground beef. While there, you try not to touch anyone or anything because you have almost ZERO immunity and have been warned that a single infection will land you in the hospital. This is also why all of a sudden you practically bathe in hand sanitizer, a chemical soup you haughtily bypassed up until very recently in favour of natural soap.

Yes, you green-cleaned your home for years, but now? You are at the grocery store and bleach and lestoil are the first items on your list.

There is a lot to get used to when you start chemo.

There was a trip to Corner Brook for the insertion of a power port. Asher joking that powerport sounds like a tiny speedboat. We were both thinking about our carefree rides on the lake last summer. We didn’t say it. A stop at the gas station by the Springdale exit, the bathroom break, the wisps of fear clouding my vision, a weak smile for the attendant. Sitting in the parking lot of the hospital. Asher on a work call. Me, breathing deep.

The powerport is a portacath – a device implanted in the chest which allows the nurses to access a central line. They can then give chemo without burning up and collapsing the other veins in the body.

I knew I would be awake for the procedure. I wanted to be asleep.

Three burning needles in the chest. Insert the port, access the vena cava with a little tube, suture everything closed. Through it, I spoke with the nurses and doctor about healthcare, their jobs, my job, the experiences of cancer patients, the meaning of life. Their kindness like a blanket as my arms shook. The need to be social overcoming the mushrooming desire to yell “stop.”

We went out for lunch after. On the way into the restaurant I fell up the stairs and startled a workman. He ran over, looking concerned. “It’s ok,” I chirped, “I just had a procedure. See?” Childishly proud of my bandages, I stroked them like a new pet.

Asher whisked me into the restaurant, where I made a concerted effort to be more dignified.

Mom and I enjoy a glass of wine on her deck. Note those lovely bandages 🙂

Then, two days later, my first chemo day. My chest was sore from the port insertion. Early morning blood tests, examination by a doctor, lots of prep to do. The cancer center was peaceful and welcoming. The doctor and nurses were friendly and helpful. My mom was with me.

I should’ve sailed through it… but when the chemo drugs were hooked up to my port I panicked. All of the bags of drugs were marked with “hazard” warnings. The nurses handling the bags were clothed in protective garb. I was certain my throat was closing over – that I was having a huge allergic reaction to this poison.

The nurses flew into action and got my breathing under control. Mom smoothed my forehead. I was amazed how calm people could be when I was so obviously on the verge of dying.

A few minutes later I was happily colouring a Bambi picture, Mom and I laughing as she fanned herself dramatically, imitating me in freak-out mode. My friend Krista was texting, telling me to listen to Bobcaygeon.

Crisis averted.

So, I’m in the second week of my first cycle of chemo now, and I’m still learning. I have 12 rounds to complete, which should take 6 months if all goes well. I’m not knowledgeable enough yet to give tips or advice to anyone else about to embark on this experience. I’m keeping track of everything in my journal so that later on I may be able to do so.

I’ve been thinking about responsibility, and trying to be mindful about how I navigate this challenge. Every now and then I find myself sitting on the edge of the tub thinking, “How did this happen?” and the truth is, I’ll never know. No one knows.

But this problem is mine to manage, for better or for worse.

Bambi learned that tragedy was as much a part of his forest world as joy and beauty. We all must learn and grow and grieve and rejoice within the confines of the imperfect nature of our lives. The hardest trials make us the strongest. I keep my Bambi picture on my writing desk now as a reminder of that.

Whether I asked for it, whether I want it or not – for the next six months, chemo is my teacher.

I call it “Bambi, an Interesting Swarm of Grasshoppers, and the Great Prince of the Forest.”

Old Man Cancer, My Ass!!

Look how young my brother and I look! I had no idea I had cancer.

Each year at our local high school the grade-twelve boys and girls are taken in separate groups into the library by the school nurse so that they can learn the steps for completing self-examinations of the breasts or testicles.

Teaching people screening tools such as these that they can use at home has surely saved hundreds of lives.

There has also been a campaign here in Newfoundland and Labrador in recent years encouraging women to get pap smears. I’ve seen the posters all around town and they have certainly reminded me to head to my doctor for my pap test.

But I’ve never seen a poster listing the symptoms of bowel or colorectal cancer. And I’ve never heard anyone say, “Check your poo.”

I think people assume, as I did, that colorectal cancer is an affliction that affects older people, most of whom are male. And we assume that, since screening is in place (usually encouraged in people over 50) the problem is more or less looked after.

But, according to the Canadian Cancer Society, colorectal cancer is the second leading cause of cancer-related deaths in Canada for men and the third leading cause for women. It is the second most commonly diagnosed cancer in Canada. Colorectal Cancer Canada notes that colorectal cancer and rectal cancer are on the rise in young people:
“By 2030, colorectal cancer incidence rates will be up 90% in people between ages 20 and 34, and 28% for people between ages 35 and 49.”
https://www.colorectalcancercanada.com/more-young-adults-getting-dying-from-colon-cancer/

The FIT test has been rolled out in Newfoundland and Labrador and this has encouraged increased participation in the colon cancer screening program. According to
Dr. Jehan Siddiqui, clinical chief of the cancer care program, this will “translate into better outcomes for our patients as screening will result in earlier diagnosis and, therefore, more effective treatment of colorectal cancer.”
https://www.thetelegram.com/news/local/new-report-sheds-light-on-newfoundland-and-labradors-cancer-statistics-280694/

I would encourage anyone, regardless of age, to complete a screening if you feel that something isn’t right, or if you have a family history.

I wish I had been educated about the symptoms of colorectal or bowel cancer, or that I had realized that my lifelong bowel issues were a risk factor. I may have been more vigilant and asked for screening earlier. I may have seen my doctor last spring when I started having mild symptoms instead of waiting until after Christmas when they were more advanced. I had no idea that I could be harbouring cancer, and I did not know what to look for.

If you notice blood or mucus in your stool, a feeling of pressure or a feeling of not completely emptying your bowel after a bathroom visit, changes in bowel habits or a change in the size of the stool that lasts more than a couple of days, have pain or cramps in the abdomen, feel tired or lethargic, or lose your appetite / lose weight, you need to see your doctor. Do not be afraid to ask for a rectal exam and a colonoscopy. This is what saved my life, and I am fortunate that my doctor examined me when I went to her office.

So, remember, check your poo! It’s not sexy but it might save your life 😉