My evil twin

Radiation is a different beast entirely from chemotherapy. Well, hardly a beast compared to chemo for me but an interesting, humbling experience nonetheless. I'm glad to be back at the national cancer institute - where it all began - and I'm even happier to be nearly closing this chapter of my life. Whereas chemo was four to five hours every other week, radiation is every weekday for 20 minutes. On the bright side, it's a bit closer to home than the other hospital and the most of the route is through a park. Dane and I take advantage of this by walking. One hour walking each direction adds a lot of time for such a short appointment but it also ensures solid daily exercise and allows me to be a couch potato the rest of the day.  Can't complain rolling out of bed for this... The radiation itself takes ten minutes max and you don't feel a thing. I lay topless on a bench with my arms above my head and my head fastened tight to the bench by a special mask to k...

"Your scan is clear." That's how the hematologist-oncologist presented the news before we were even able to sit down in his office. Just like ripping a band-aid off, yanking the tension out of the air before carrying on with conversation. Dane lit up and I essentially went into standby mode. The doctor went on: no activity to be found on the PET scan, Deauville score 1, full metabolic remission. There was already tentative evidence of a good response to the chemo - my twin turned squishy and I no longer had any alcohol pain or itching. At the same time, my doctors had made clear time and time again that a bad interim scan isn't the end of the world: there are several alternative treatment options that, while heavier on the body, have similar success rates. I balanced these two ideas in the week between the PET scan and the doctor's appointment to prepare myself for any outcome as I tried to focus on recovering from the latest chemo treatment as opposed to someth...

Fourth treatment of chemo done! Now to 'enjoy' my side effects for a week or so, recover a few days, and I'm done with my second cycle! Another milestone! (notice the sweet side shave?) It really is all routine by now: Dane drops me off at the oncology day clinic, I happily greet all the nurses and other patients (always gezellig! ), find an open chair and get myself comfortable. The nurses hook the IV up to my PICC line and then over the course of three hours or so, all of the drugs are administered. To pass the time, I mostly look at my phone and text my mother (who always wakes up before the crack of dawn in Philly to keep me company!) and Dane. I try to stomach some lunch from the hospital - it's tasty but my body now associates it with chemo - and I chat with the nurses to practice my Dutch every time they're attending to my frantically beeping infusion pump. I get my PICC line cleaned and redressed at some point during the chemo and once we're all ...

Five weeks into chemotherapy and I think I'm getting the hang of things. All the mystery and fears of cancer treatment have given way to experience and even some confidence. But I'm also staying humble and taking things one day at a time. Chemo shows little mercy. While I'm getting used to the side effects, any moment something new can just pop up. One moment I can be focused and feeling good and the next I can hardly keep my eyes open. Keeps me on my toes and listening to my body! Each treatment has been better than the last. Familiarity goes a long way for that. But so does more drugs. The ' langer afbouwen ' of my anti-nausea medicine (extension from a four- to six-day scheme) has done wonders to avoid a cold turkey dip day. My only other serious complaint that has persisted and worsened each cycle has been a relentless headache that Tylenol wouldn't touch. I brought it up to my hematologist before my third treatment last week. After asking a few questions ...

My second chemo treatment was last Wednesday, April 15, and I'm happy to say it went pretty well. In fact, significantly better than the first time. It helps to be familiar with how things go of course. But even more importantly, the PICC line made the infusion so much more comfortable. I was pretty anxious to get the PICC line installed. It's essentially a catheter that dangles out my left arm and connects up a vein all the way just above my heart. I think I hyper-focused on it as a coping mechanism - something tangible and gross to worry about that's less personal than the cancer in me. But after the disturbing experience searching for suitable veins in my first treatment and the subsequent pains and stiffness in my arm that lasted more than a week (and bruises still to show!), I warmed up to the idea. The insertion procedure was pretty painless. Just a little sting from the anesthesia in my arm. I was laying in the middle of a large operation room with an x-ray over ...

Cycle 1A is in the bag, achter de rug ! Chemotherapy is no longer a menacing cloud of uncertainty; no more need for anxiety or nervousness, just getting through it. It's been a rollercoaster, both easier and worse than I expected at the same time. The side effects were mostly manageable, but very unpleasant and long-lasting.  I'm pleased to say my team at the hospital prepared me reasonably well in terms of being aware of and managing side effects. I was prescribed several anti-nausea medications for the first four days starting each treatment day. Since these medications on top of chemo alone can cause severe constipation, I took preventative magnesium from the beginning. The "A" and the "V" chemo drugs also can cause mean mouth sores, so on top of sucking on ice chips while they were administered, I rinsed my mouth with salt water every couple hours the week following chemo. This kept things pretty bearable! I saw some beginnings of sores in my mout...

Happy April Fools'! It's a bit of a drab year for pranks and jokes given the pandemic (though my heart still skipped a beat when I fell for this article ). On top of that, it was my first day of chemotherapy! Turns out the hospital wasn't pulling a prank on me - the seat and chemotherapy drugs with my name on it were all ready. With my classic Hodgkin's diagnosis, I'm receiving the front-line Hodgkin's treatment: ABVD. ABVD is a four-drug chemotherapy regimen that is extremely effective in wiping out the cancer. The goal is to inhibit cell growth and division. For my normal cells that's not so nice, leading to hair loss and a weakened immune system among other things. But for my cancer cells, it should spell a death warrant. On the bright side, this chemo regimen has been around since the 1960s and has made huge improvements since then. Specifically reducing toxicity and increasing comfort with lots of anti-nausea medications. A cycle of ABVD is one mont...