Lumbar chemo.
Creeped out just by the words ‘lumbar chemo’? Yeah, me too. When the oncologist first mentioned this was part of the deal, horror film reels ran through my head of big needles and weird contraptions clicking and for some reason everything is black and white** with, like, 10 nurses with scalpels. Blahhhh, gross.
If you’re one of the weirdos who go to haunted houses and are into scary shit, I hate to break it to you but it’s way less dramatic than that. In fact, it’s one of the least painful/dramatic parts of this whole shebang. Before I show that beautiful bean footage (shout out to Bush’s baked beans, the staple food of childhood summer in Iowa - HOLLA!), WTF do I need chemo in my spine for?! In short, my specific flavor of c-bag loves to weasel its way into the central nervous system and wreak all kinds of havoc causing cognitive changes like nausea, confusion, seizures, vomiting - really playing all the hits. Intrathecal or LP (lumbar puncture) chemo in my case is a preventative measure. In addition to pushing the chemo, the PA also collects cerebrospinal fluid (CSF) to test to make sure those lil assholes aren’t trying to live that squatter’s life.
My trusty steed
Every Friday before I go back for another round, AKA day 14, I check into the hospital two hours before my procedure as dem rules say the pharmacists cannot start mixing the drugs until I arrive. Next, labs are collected to test my ability to appropriately form blood clots. For the remaining two hours, I wait and people watch in the radiology waiting area. Airports and medical waiting rooms, the Disneyland for people watching. (Disneyland, also the Disneyland for people watching.)
Rick and Stacy are my dream team and we’ve formed a fast friendship. Rick is in his 60’s, has a whole gaggle of kids and grandkids to show me on his phone, and always has some kind of new ailment getting in the way of his extreme sports. This renaissance man is literally going windsurfing next weekend. Stacey, the PA, is precise, diligent, and walks me through it all with grace and heart. I heart them.
Cliff notes of procedure that takes about 15 minutes (once again, not a medical expert, this is my own interpretation):
Lay flat on my stomach on the table (see pic above)
Clean up and dress my lower back
Numbing with lidocaine using a needle which feels like 30 seconds of stinging + burning. The irony of pain relief is you have to go through pain to get it. This is the heavy lifting for me.
Another needle into a cute little gap between my vertebrae where the CSF can be harvested. To help this drain, they Frankenstein’s monster the table about 15% and we wait for the juices to flow and chat to pass the time. Last time we chatted about the best “back” themed songs (e.g. baby got back) and this time the most accurate medical shows. Their answer? None but they liked Scrubs best.
Once the CSF is drained, the bed is lowered flat and chemo is pushed over 2 minutes.
Done. Once I’m cleaned up, I’ll lay and chat with Rick for 15ish minutes in an attempt to prevent headaches.
Uhh, the headache thing. Anytime you mess with the spine like this headaches can be an issue. They say that laying flat for an hour or so will help, but the last few times I had migraines for multiple days, so today I’m going to lay all.freakin.day. I gots my errand boy, I gots my Netflix, I gots cats. Silver linings galore.
A week from today, back for round 3. Between even number rounds, there is also a PET scan to check on if the c-bag witch is dead or not and that is this round. If the headaches remain chill, this will be the week I’ll feel most like myself. My mantra today: “supine makes the days fine.” Uhh, that’s almost as gross as old medical photos (which is “fun” to Google by the way.)
Arbitrary footnote: There are 3 things that I believed/did WAY past the age when I should of. 1. Santa: Age 11. I would literally cry at the Toys ‘R Us commercial thinking I was going to be an adult someday, so I think these are related. 2. Sucking my thumb: Age 11. Ben Hinz in Mrs. Gutierrez’s class caught me sucking it during a movie day and made fun of me at recess for it. All I needed was a little shame to stop so Ben, I guess…thank you?! and 3. The world used to be black and white: Aged 9. Old movies were black and white so the world must have been. One of the many early signs I would be in the arts and not the sciences.
Not pictured: Evan as my errand boy and egg chef extraordinaire.