PICCn' and Grinnin'

My new BFF.
We're growing quite attached.

Because my veins don't take kindly to being poked on a regular basis, it was determined that a PICC (peripherally inserted central catheter) be inserted.
I schlepped to the hospital yesterday, took the elevator to the lower level - aka basement and found the infusion center. It's a large room. In the center were recliner chairs where those getting IV therapy could relax while their "liquid gold" dripped slowly in their veins. Around the center are bays separated by curtains with beds. Quite comfortable, I might add.
This is where my procedure took place.
My specially trained nurse M invited me to sit on the bed while she positioned herself next to me. We went over the dreaded, but required list of, "this is what could go wrong". This is where I took the deep breath and summoned my courage to keep from shaking her hand and very politely thank her for her time, but I'd changed my mind and would be leaving now...thank you very much. At least she was slow and caring about the whole thing, unlike the bullet speed voice over at the end of a drug commercial on TV.
It was now time for the production to begin. Lots of blue paper drapes, tubes, syringes and other paraphernalia to be revealed and positioned.
To be honest, the whole thing was relatively painless. Yes, the initial poke required some birth coach breathing, but it only lasted seconds. Then the second poke was the magic lidocaine which kicked any discomfort to the curb.

However... oh yes, there was a however.
The guide wire wouldn't advance to where it was suppose to. M pulled it out a little and tried again, and remember, no pain, so all I knew that something wasn't working was her vocalizations. Sill no dice. So much for my left arm.
Another unpacking of sterile equipment and... lets try the other arm. Once again,the ultrasound showed a luscious, round, ready for action vein.
The wire slid in and kept going. She was pleased.
Now it was time for the x-ray tech to arrive with his machine to snap a glossy 8X10 to make sure the tube was where it was meant to be.
 The wait wasn't long and the picture popped up on M's computer.
Houston, we have a problem.
The tube slid up into my juggler vein in my neck instead of down toward my heart.
Try again. She pulled the tube out to the junction point and gave it another go. We waited for Mr. X-ray again. Smile for the camera...
Results? Even after turning my head and tilting my chin as instructed, it wanted to slide up again. Bad, bad tube!
By now, I'm worried, and frustrated and M is more than frustrated. This twirnt spose to happen. I'm quietly praying, I can tell she's praying and we give it the third time's a charm. But this time M has requested help from the other PICC nurse, C. She pushes my head over and down - not quite into an exorcist position, but let's just say, your nose can touch the pillow when you lay on your back. She also pushed on my juggler vein to discourage the tube from entering. She told me to tell her if I started to feel my brain turn to mush. Now, how am I suppose to know that... I gave my brain cells to my kids at birth.
One more wait, one more visit from THE MACHINE, and...
High fives all around. It worked. She finished the procedure, taped my new jewelry in place and I was good to go.
What doesn't kill you, makes you stronger.
I was sent home with my "care and feeding of your new PICC line" paper.

See how much fun you can have at a hospital?
Next time: Hi Ho Hi Ho, it's off to the cancer center I go. It's Not To Late To Help 

Onward and Upward

One year.

One year since Dr. Little Black Cloud breezed into the recovery bay and delivered her now famous line,"we have a problem, you have cancer."
I wish I could report that I am now cancer free and training for the Boston marathon. Or that I'm featured in a new book - How to Beat Cancer Without Giving Up the Foods You Love.
But I still have the nasty little beastie hanging out in my southern hemisphere. The tumor is still compromising my sphincter muscles. I haven't moved back to Mitford.

But, here's what has happened in the course of the year.

Every few months, I had follow-up full meal deal blood tests. And the results?
My body was getting healthier.
How can it do that? You still have cancer?
My cells began working together, like a herd of elephants protecting a little one. They banded together to protect and defend. Unlike conventional chemotherapy that cannot differentiate between the good, the bad and the ugly, and destroys everything in it's path, the IV therapy and supplements I received helped the healthy cells get stronger. My immune system was not compromised. On the contrary, it took on new powers to keep the cancer from spreading.
I endured the seasonal maladies - colds and such the same way I had before my diagnosis. I had the usual week of the cruds, and then it cleared up. In fact, in December I went through a bout of tonsillitis. And although it was miserable for a few weeks, I got over it without any setbacks. My immune system fought like little troupers and won.
My follow-up CT scan showed no noticeable changes. No mastitis to other organs.
For having cancer, I'm one healthy chick. Go figure.

And now? What does my future hold?
Glad you asked.
I'm embarking on a new healing journey. Or, really, not new at all, but the next phase in the adventure.
I'd like to introduce you to my new friend, Chaim.
Chaim in Hebrew means - life.
He will be joining me as I post future blogs.
I've reported on my past road trips - girl friend road trips and Israel road trips. This one is called - a healing road trip.

Next: It begins with a suggestion.
GiveForward

Real Medicine

♫ Let’s start at the very beginning, it’s a very good place to start… ♫

It's a whole different ballgame when you enter a healing place for yourself instead of a loved one. Now I was the one sitting across from Doctor Y. I was the one having my vitals checked, records created - telling my story and my ultimate goal for recovery. This was now my fight, hearing battle plans with life or death consequences. It was for real, now.

First line of defense - a no stone untouched blood workup. Not just the bare minimum CBC test, but a full meal deal, dessert included panel. Since this was all out of my pocket, no insurance company was involved in deciding how little to get away with. No, I got bang for my buck.

 Based on the results I got a complete diet change and introduction of vitamins and minerals to boost my immune system and correct the areas that needed help. I got a two plus hour block of time with my doctor. I listened to her, and she listened to me. At the end of our session, I walked out of her office armed with an arsenal of weapons to kick my nasty little enemy in the touchas (pun intended), along with hope and a warm enveloping hug. Oh, and remember in my last blog where I wondered why I didn't get to sit in the doctor's office with the desk, but instead had to do the "results" chat on the narrow hard exam table? Dr. Y's office had a bonafide desk and padded chair. 

As I mentioned in my blog - Carbs and Salads:

 http://verbalismbuffet.blogspot.com/2015/03/what-wouldnt-we-give-for-that-extra-bit.html

Out went my favorite pasta dishes, baked potatoes and warm toasty bread. In came salads and green vegetables - lots of them. But my body welcomed it - like it was just waiting for me to get the wake up call.

Next course of action was to introduce my body to some hard core treatments. IV therapy.

Yup, needles in the veins, three times a week.

We began with vitamin C and Myers.

Although the body can't absorb the high levels of vitamin C orally, and can have some pretty negative affects, given in IV form, it goes directly into the blood stream. Unlike conventional chemotherapy which indiscriminately kills all cells - cancer and healthy ones alike, vitamin C targets only the cancer cells. 

Along with vitamin C, I was given a Myers cocktail. No, not a fancy colorful drink with floating fruit and an umbrella. This little number includes magnesium, selenium, vitamin C, B vitamins and calcium. It helps boost the body's immune system and helps it fight the cancer. 

Each treatment took between 2 to 3 hours depending on the IV drip speed. With recliners, a movie or soft, relaxing music and conversation with those around, the atmosphere was comfortable. And there were times when a nice afternoon nap came in handy. 

No gurneys, beeping machines, antiseptic smells. Call it a spa for the veins. I'm sure there might even be clinics where a mani/pedi is available.

Next: But wait...there's more!

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