While Chemo Boy saws silent logs next to me, I am unable to sleep. It’s a twisted version of the night before Christmas. I’m not exactly waiting for Santa to bring gifts down my chimney.
I’m waiting for tomorrow’s PET scan to show us whether or not the 8 elephantine syringes of fire-engine-red vein-burning toxins and equal number of IV bags filled with other poisonous liquids, four IV bags of the miraculous Rituxan, and 20-days worth of prednisone, have killed all, most, or some of the cancer that was/may still be killing my husband. How awesome is that?
He’s had his Neupogen shots for this cycle, endured the aching bones they cause as his bone marrow is forced into production, experienced a spread of the peripheral neuropathy caused by the Vincristine, and had more blood drawn as he has done every cycle. It’s become routine, and it’s getting old.
If you are prone to happy thoughts, prayers, good vibes, or pulling pins out of his voodoo doll, we’d greatly appreciate any and all of those things.
The fine print: We’re scheduled to meet with Dr. W next Thursday, the day before Hubs’ next chemo cycle. We’ll get his PET scan results, discuss whether or not the Vincristine will need to be reduced or possibly stopped for a cycle to prevent additional peripheral neuropathy, find out whether chemo will be complete after these next two cycles, and whether or not radiation will be necessary. Dr. W has explained that radiation is useful for shrinking/killing individual tumors, but if cancer recurs post-remission, it is rarely in the location of a previous tumor.