DAY 1: In the saddle... er, bed, rather...

Well I am here in the E wing of the 8th floor at Emory in the main hospital. I'm on a floor with people who are either awaiting or recovering from stem cell transplants. Whew. We made it to the starting block. And today was "Day 1".

I got a wake-up call this morning from the nurse oncologist saying I was on the docket for a 7:30am port placement. After collecting a few overnight items and my file folder that has been widening every day since November 19th, we headed to Emory.

We utilized the valet parking option which made it an easy welcome to the Hospital. After having my blood drawn to run the necessary labs (again), I was admitted into the interventional radiology department. There were several people coughing in the waiting area, which meant masks were in order. Now is not the time to get sick!

I was taken back to a staging area, asked to get in the Emory Healthcare hospital gown (the one with the drafty behind) and then the nurses all came in and asked me the routine battery of health history questions. The doctor came in and told me about the procedure and that it was local anethesia only. Hmmm. All the time, I anticipated it to be general anesthesia. Well, I guess they do this all the time and must know a thing or two.

I specifially asked him what kind of dual-lumen catheter (port) we'd be getting: a standard or 'power' (i.e. injectible) port. He hesitated enough to make me start to worry. He came back and said it would indeed be a standard one, and off we went. I was taken back to the O.R. where the radiologist who would be using ultrasound was prepping the space. There were about 5 people in there, all making inside jokes and hob-knobbing around. Brouhaha galore. The radiologist asked which kind of port we'd be implanting, a standard or power port. No quick reply came. So I sat up from the operating bed and said, "Hey, this is starting to worry me! Let's get this one right, ok!?" After another ten minutes of banter, someone came back into the room and proclaimed that the power port, rather, was needed. Glad we avoided that mix-up.

The actual surgical procedure took about 30 minutes. They shoot a fan of lidocaine into my collar bone area, make an incision by the jugular, trough out some tissue to make space for the port to recess a bit, and then run a catheter line down to the heart, stopping just shy of it. Whatever comes in via these ports goes straght to the main event. I made some pretty stupid small talk with the surgeoun during the procedure, just to keep my cool. It was not painful, but was certainly awkward!

After being taking back out to the staging area where they monitored my vitals for an hour, I was ready to be taken up to my room. The room itself is quite simple. Just a bed, chair or two, TV, and bathroom. There is an infusion pump right next to the bed that permits 4 different liquids to be mixed and infused into the port at once. They can also draw blood out from the port, as well. It's a two-way street.



This afternoon, the nurses gave me some sodium bicarbonate, Ativan for nausea and anxiety, sodium chloride, and Zofran for anti-nausea, Allopuranol for kidney protection, and a stool softener-- all as pre-chemo. I'll be honest, I felt horrible most of the day. It was a mixture of intense fatigue and nausea mixed in with abdomen pains. I don't know why I felt this way, but I did nonetheless. I kept asking myself, if I feel this bad now, how will I feel when the actual chemo drugs start??? As a result, an attack of fear and worry came against me in a very major way. Only after prolonged prayer with my amazing, loving, nurturing, selfless wife and a dear friend did it start to subside. It was very unsettling and I am reminded through this day once again: I must stay focused here. The Lord is my strength.

Not having much of an appetite today, I nibbled on organic applesause, fruit salad, and cereal. I did drink about 5 bottles of water in half a day. The goal is to keep fluids moving through the body as rapidly as feasible. Oh, and I did indeed.

Around 9pm, I got a pepcid to help my stomach react to the first chemo drugs: 10 dexamethosone pills (a steroid) and cytoxan (an IV given over 3 hours). I'm about halfway through this infusion, and feeling ok. I want to sleep, but they will do blood draws at midnight and check my vitals at midnight, 4am, 8am, etc. To boot, my room overlooks the LifeFlight heli pad, so we get an occasional air show from here.

Looks like I will be here about a week. Saturday would be the earliest I would be discharged, presuming my blood counts don't drop off too drastically.

The floor I'm on is fairly small. There are about 20 patients here tonight. 21 laps around the hall constitutes one mile. Over the course of the day, I've done a total of 7 measley laps. That's an indication of my level of energy. I was bouncing off the walls yesterday living in my normal environment and eating at my favorite restaurantes, and today I can barely walk a third of a mile around the hospital and have had a dozen drugs pumped into my bloodstream.

Oh, how quickly things can change! I hope for some rest and peace tonight.