Over the years I have come to the conclusion that I am a little bit different than most people. (As they say on the Weekend Update skit on Saturday Night Live, “REALLY!?”) In the next couple of weeks, I will be undergoing a stem cell transplant that United Health Care believes is specialized enough to give in network coverage at the Mayo Clinic. Normal, non-transplant, procedures there are considered out of network.
Despite the significance of the transplant itself and the harvesting of the stem cells themselves, I have no concern what-so-ever about the procedure. I mean, I get more nervous going to the dentist than what I am about this. I wish I could say the same about the procedure that I have to undergo the morning that the harvesting starts. To be able to pull the stem cells from my blood they need to run the blood through a machine. To get it into the machine in a timely fashion, they need to turn me into the Bionic Man by putting a catheter in my chest.
The good doctors at the Mayo on Tuesday will be putting me into a “twilight state” and give me medicine to forget what is going to take place that morning. It bothers me that they have to give me something that is going to make me “forget.” What is it that they want me to forget? Can’t they just put me under and not give me the opportunity to forget something? I think I would prefer to just be stupid and not worry about forgetting whatever it is that they will do.
Per Wikipedia-- The catheter is placed in one of the large veins. A common site is superior vena cava or SVC. An SVC catheter is placed by puncturing the internal jugular vein in the neck (most often on the right side), and the catheter is then advanced downwards toward the chest. Alternatively an SVC catheter can be inserted via subclavian veins right behind the clavicle (the collar bone), often on the right.
Not sure about you, but this whole concept is a little disconcerting when they use terms like “puncturing” and “jugular” in the same sentence. As you can see in the picture above, this is not a pretty sight. I wonder what the over/under bet will be on the number of minutes that I actually sleep the night before. I have to deal with this for one week before I even go in the hospital. I’m going to be afraid to take a shower. What if I accidentally pull it out? I’ll bleed to death right next to my Pert bottle.
If I somehow manage to survive this inhumane treatment I will face up to four days of being hooked up to this dialysis type machine for five hours per day. During that time, they hope to gather eight to ten million stem cells. This is actually enough for two transplants. They tell me that they save the second half so that I will have them ready if and when I need a second transplant. What I really think is that they want extras in case they drop one of the bags and it explodes.
Then on June 2nd, I will meet with Dr. Mikhael in the morning and he will decide if all of the tests confirm that I am ready for transplant. If a bed is available, I will then check in and if it is early enough, receive chemo at 4PM. If I miss that time, the next treatment isn’t scheduled until 10PM. Hopefully, I can get the early one as you can’t just fall asleep during the treatment. Because of the harsh nature of this drug, I will have to keep ice chips in my mouth the whole time. This drug attacks the mouth, esophagus and everything else through the digestive system and the ice seems to help.
Then two days later I will receive my stem cells back and the race is on to get my immune system back. Two or three days after that, I will start to feel the full effects of the chemo. The rumor is that I will have food exiting my body in both directions much faster than God ever intended. To top that off, my hair should be falling into the receptacle just about as fast. Luckily, I have been practicing the losing hair part for the last 20 years and have gotten pretty good at it. Julia promises pictures on my blog for all those waiting to see me with a chrome dome.
If all goes well, I may know in a month of all of this transpiring if I am in remission. I have no doubt that I will be, but it will be nice to hear it from the doctor.
Despite the significance of the transplant itself and the harvesting of the stem cells themselves, I have no concern what-so-ever about the procedure. I mean, I get more nervous going to the dentist than what I am about this. I wish I could say the same about the procedure that I have to undergo the morning that the harvesting starts. To be able to pull the stem cells from my blood they need to run the blood through a machine. To get it into the machine in a timely fashion, they need to turn me into the Bionic Man by putting a catheter in my chest.
The good doctors at the Mayo on Tuesday will be putting me into a “twilight state” and give me medicine to forget what is going to take place that morning. It bothers me that they have to give me something that is going to make me “forget.” What is it that they want me to forget? Can’t they just put me under and not give me the opportunity to forget something? I think I would prefer to just be stupid and not worry about forgetting whatever it is that they will do.
Per Wikipedia-- The catheter is placed in one of the large veins. A common site is superior vena cava or SVC. An SVC catheter is placed by puncturing the internal jugular vein in the neck (most often on the right side), and the catheter is then advanced downwards toward the chest. Alternatively an SVC catheter can be inserted via subclavian veins right behind the clavicle (the collar bone), often on the right.
Not sure about you, but this whole concept is a little disconcerting when they use terms like “puncturing” and “jugular” in the same sentence. As you can see in the picture above, this is not a pretty sight. I wonder what the over/under bet will be on the number of minutes that I actually sleep the night before. I have to deal with this for one week before I even go in the hospital. I’m going to be afraid to take a shower. What if I accidentally pull it out? I’ll bleed to death right next to my Pert bottle.
If I somehow manage to survive this inhumane treatment I will face up to four days of being hooked up to this dialysis type machine for five hours per day. During that time, they hope to gather eight to ten million stem cells. This is actually enough for two transplants. They tell me that they save the second half so that I will have them ready if and when I need a second transplant. What I really think is that they want extras in case they drop one of the bags and it explodes.
Then on June 2nd, I will meet with Dr. Mikhael in the morning and he will decide if all of the tests confirm that I am ready for transplant. If a bed is available, I will then check in and if it is early enough, receive chemo at 4PM. If I miss that time, the next treatment isn’t scheduled until 10PM. Hopefully, I can get the early one as you can’t just fall asleep during the treatment. Because of the harsh nature of this drug, I will have to keep ice chips in my mouth the whole time. This drug attacks the mouth, esophagus and everything else through the digestive system and the ice seems to help.
Then two days later I will receive my stem cells back and the race is on to get my immune system back. Two or three days after that, I will start to feel the full effects of the chemo. The rumor is that I will have food exiting my body in both directions much faster than God ever intended. To top that off, my hair should be falling into the receptacle just about as fast. Luckily, I have been practicing the losing hair part for the last 20 years and have gotten pretty good at it. Julia promises pictures on my blog for all those waiting to see me with a chrome dome.
If all goes well, I may know in a month of all of this transpiring if I am in remission. I have no doubt that I will be, but it will be nice to hear it from the doctor.
John, maybe you could volunteer to pose for the next picture they need...this man's chest did nothing for me. Lori
ReplyDeleteSince there is demand, I'll be sure to post a photo of his line if I can look at it long enough! He we are, the squeamish helping the more squeamish. I'm afraid to sleep with him after it's in. What if I roll over and get it caught on something and I kill him in bed long before the cancer has it's shot!
ReplyDeleteWhat a wonderful blog - an insight into what you are going through. Even in the midst of it all - that sense of humor shines through from both of you. Bravo!! >>Darlah
ReplyDeleteJohn, some of our patients have a central line and like the convenience of them. You shouldn't have any problems.
ReplyDelete