Chemotherapy 2.2 and Cheese Grits
Here's some pictures of me doing the three days of treatment for the second time on salvage chemotherapy (RICE or ICE-R). And the fingers are meant to be 2.2. Yes, I'm aware they look like the victory sign. I'm okay with that.
Just a li'l side note. Some unnamed people (cough, Mike, cough) have commented on my apparent lack of shirts. I made sure and wore some of my other ones this time to set minds at ease. Also, my plaid shirts are comfy. So suck it! And I mean that in the most loving way possible.
Here's something, y'all. It is possible that I've finished my last chemotherapy treatment before I do my bone marrow transplant. That's kind of a big deal. As for the treatments I'll do during the BMT, I'm doing my best to just not think about it too much. That's healthy, right? I figure, I'll be in the hospital for the whole thing. If something goes awry, there are people present who can fix the problem. Plus, they have the good drugs.
No, seriously. Don't wanna talk about it.
So, chemotherapy 2.2 has, so far, gone better than chemotherapy 2.1. If you may recall, chemotherapy 2.1 landed me in the hospital with a fever of 104 F (40 C).
Bastard.
Anywho, I'm now on the same day out from my 2.2 treatment as I was with my 2.1 when I was carted unceremoniously, ranting and raving, to the ER.
Good times.
But honestly. So far, so good. I am excessively tired, but I'm surviving. Today, one of the elevators I've been using since I started in on the salvage chemo was out of order, and I almost cried. I climbed the stairs and had to sit down for fifteen minutes just to catch my breath.
With this new regimen, I've noticed some things. Okay, one was patently obvious, but the other has ended up being much more of a problem.
First, this chemo made me lose my beard.
Here's the progression.
That last picture reminds me of something. Oh, right.
The hair on top of my head (what's left of if after nature had her way with me years ago, that is) doesn't seem to be going anywhere. My eyebrows and eyelashes, for the moment, appear to be safe. Nope. It's just my beard that good ol' RICE decided to go after.
That seems a little unfair. I have a weak chin.
The second issue, which I may have talked about before (who knows? I can't remember for $#!+) is nausea. It's so much worse than it was with the ABVD protocol. I've dropped a lot of weight. Part of that is due to the fact that I just can't tolerate sugar much, but lately, it's been more than that. I hit my "ideal" body weight (can someone tell me what the hell that actually means?) and I'm pretty sure I'm now under it.
I struggle to eat pretty much anything. I'm eating high calorie foods that I never used to get to eat, and I can't even enjoy them, for the most part. There are things that help, but most of those things are either unpleasant to use or have nasty side effects. And to be honest, I'm pretty much fed up with side effects. See what I did there? FED. UP. I'm a genius.
Wanna know what's saving me?
Cheese grits and eggs.
I grew up in the South. Sort of. I grew up in Texas, which is its own thing, but my mom was from Northern Florida (for those not in the know, the northern part of Florida is way more southern than the southern part). We also had a bunch of relatives in South Carolina and Georgia that we would visit from time to time. Well, the ones in South Carolina, anyway. The ones from Georgia would usually come meet up with us when we made the journey out.
Where in South Carolina? Do you know where Hodges is? No? Really? That's a shock. Well, it's outside of Hodges.
You get the picture. Deep, deep, deep South.
And one of the staples down there is grits and eggs for breakfast. I grew up eating them. If you didn't grow up eating them, you more than likely won't be all that impressed.
Unless you eat my wife's.
Now, understand that these are desperate times, in which desperate measures are necessary. She makes the grits with cream and whole milk. Grits are usually made with water.
But that's not all. After the grits have finished cooking, she dumps a bunch of cheese in there to get all melty and stuff. Then she fries three eggs in bacon fat, slaps them on top of the grits and watches while I eat them. Have I mentioned lately how incredible she is?
That dish is one of the few things I actually enjoy these days.
So when I'm done with this (and I WILL be done with this), I'll be able to look back and honestly state that cheese grits and eggs saved my life.
I'm pretty sure my Southern grandmother is looking down at me and smiling her face off.
---------------------
Coming soon: a dissection of the movie The Lighthouse and why you should never go see it with just you and one other male friend.
Next post
 |
| First day. Don't I look all fresh and rosy? |
 |
| You can take your drama llama elsewhere, SIR. |
 |
| Second day. Smile perhaps a little forced. |
 |
| Why yes, those ARE socks based on Disney's Mr. Toad's Wild Ride. |
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| Third day. Poor chap. Keep working on that acting, and you'll get it one day. Maybe. |
 |
| Tractors socks. Because they're just COOL. |
Just a li'l side note. Some unnamed people (cough, Mike, cough) have commented on my apparent lack of shirts. I made sure and wore some of my other ones this time to set minds at ease. Also, my plaid shirts are comfy. So suck it! And I mean that in the most loving way possible.
Here's something, y'all. It is possible that I've finished my last chemotherapy treatment before I do my bone marrow transplant. That's kind of a big deal. As for the treatments I'll do during the BMT, I'm doing my best to just not think about it too much. That's healthy, right? I figure, I'll be in the hospital for the whole thing. If something goes awry, there are people present who can fix the problem. Plus, they have the good drugs.
No, seriously. Don't wanna talk about it.
So, chemotherapy 2.2 has, so far, gone better than chemotherapy 2.1. If you may recall, chemotherapy 2.1 landed me in the hospital with a fever of 104 F (40 C).
Bastard.
Anywho, I'm now on the same day out from my 2.2 treatment as I was with my 2.1 when I was carted unceremoniously, ranting and raving, to the ER.
Good times.
But honestly. So far, so good. I am excessively tired, but I'm surviving. Today, one of the elevators I've been using since I started in on the salvage chemo was out of order, and I almost cried. I climbed the stairs and had to sit down for fifteen minutes just to catch my breath.
With this new regimen, I've noticed some things. Okay, one was patently obvious, but the other has ended up being much more of a problem.
First, this chemo made me lose my beard.
Here's the progression.
 |
| Look at how lush and healthy that beard is. |
 |
| Okay, a little patchy, but if I trim it down close enough, maybe no one will notice. |
 |
| Screw it. Just embrace the suck. |
That last picture reminds me of something. Oh, right.
 |
| Yes. Let the hate flow through you. |
The hair on top of my head (what's left of if after nature had her way with me years ago, that is) doesn't seem to be going anywhere. My eyebrows and eyelashes, for the moment, appear to be safe. Nope. It's just my beard that good ol' RICE decided to go after.
That seems a little unfair. I have a weak chin.
The second issue, which I may have talked about before (who knows? I can't remember for $#!+) is nausea. It's so much worse than it was with the ABVD protocol. I've dropped a lot of weight. Part of that is due to the fact that I just can't tolerate sugar much, but lately, it's been more than that. I hit my "ideal" body weight (can someone tell me what the hell that actually means?) and I'm pretty sure I'm now under it.
I struggle to eat pretty much anything. I'm eating high calorie foods that I never used to get to eat, and I can't even enjoy them, for the most part. There are things that help, but most of those things are either unpleasant to use or have nasty side effects. And to be honest, I'm pretty much fed up with side effects. See what I did there? FED. UP. I'm a genius.
Wanna know what's saving me?
Cheese grits and eggs.
 |
| It's like heaven on a paper plate. |
I grew up in the South. Sort of. I grew up in Texas, which is its own thing, but my mom was from Northern Florida (for those not in the know, the northern part of Florida is way more southern than the southern part). We also had a bunch of relatives in South Carolina and Georgia that we would visit from time to time. Well, the ones in South Carolina, anyway. The ones from Georgia would usually come meet up with us when we made the journey out.
Where in South Carolina? Do you know where Hodges is? No? Really? That's a shock. Well, it's outside of Hodges.
You get the picture. Deep, deep, deep South.
And one of the staples down there is grits and eggs for breakfast. I grew up eating them. If you didn't grow up eating them, you more than likely won't be all that impressed.
Unless you eat my wife's.
Now, understand that these are desperate times, in which desperate measures are necessary. She makes the grits with cream and whole milk. Grits are usually made with water.
But that's not all. After the grits have finished cooking, she dumps a bunch of cheese in there to get all melty and stuff. Then she fries three eggs in bacon fat, slaps them on top of the grits and watches while I eat them. Have I mentioned lately how incredible she is?
That dish is one of the few things I actually enjoy these days.
So when I'm done with this (and I WILL be done with this), I'll be able to look back and honestly state that cheese grits and eggs saved my life.
I'm pretty sure my Southern grandmother is looking down at me and smiling her face off.
---------------------
Coming soon: a dissection of the movie The Lighthouse and why you should never go see it with just you and one other male friend.
Next post
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