Tuesday was a “Chemo Day.”
Side Note: Can I just take a moment to brag about my wonderful husband? He really is one of the “good ones.” Every morning he wakes up, goes downstairs and makes my coffee – only a half pot since he doesn’t drink any, and extra strong – just the way I like it. On the mornings that he is leaving as I’m supposed to be getting up (or really any day in which I hit snooze too many times) he comes upstairs to wake me up, say goodbye, and give me a kiss. Well, on “Chemo Days” he always makes a full pot of coffee knowing that my brother is on his way to the house and also drinks coffee. It’s those little things that I love so much. (Don’t worry – he’s not completely perfect and there are times when I could strangle him too!!)
Tuesday my brother showed up about two hours late. We rushed right to the hospital to see if they could still even fit us in for the treatment. Hopkins has this great program in which every patient is given a “credit card”. It’s a card with your name, and information imprinted into it and a magnetic strip that also contains the same information. As soon as you arrive you swipe the card at a kiosk in the main lobby. It provides you a print out of your schedule for the day. After that, every time you go to a new room or waiting area you swipe your card at the card-reader in that room. In this way, the hospital can track you no matter where you are, as well as ensure that no one is waiting for too long of a time anywhere (cough – yeah right!).
We arrived, my brother swiped his card and rather than a print out of his schedule, he received a notice to see the admittance / registration desk. As he was behind in paying off some of the medical expenses (those that exceeded what insurance covers) they required him to make a minimal payment prior to getting his treatment.
Unfortunately on Tuesday his platelet count was too low to receive treatment. It appears I jinxed myself last week. They will give him one cycle off and we go back in two more weeks to see if his platelet count has improved enough to get treatment. This also means that his last treatment date gets pushed back by one cycle which puts him to July 17 – his birthday. I am going to try and organize a surprise birthday party for him at our house for after his treatment (obviously he doesn’t know about this blog) but to make it a success means I have to depend on my family to show up – and given their lack of participation in this whole process to date, well, only time will tell. At least Rob and I can still have a cake for him or something!
As for my new cause……I really want to look into what financial support is out there for families going through major medical expenses such as chemotherapy treatments. When my mother went through it, it devastated my family financially. My parents were forced to claim bankruptcy to not lose the house, though we did lose the car through repossession, as well as many of our other possessions in the house. And now, I see my brother going through it and while insurance is helping out tremendously, he is still hit with hundred of dollars of medical bills each month. He is close, if not already at, his catastrophic limit, but he still has several months of bills to cover. Even the best of budgeters in this world would still have trouble covering not only their usual expenses but an additional $500 - $1,00 each month for 4-5 months in a row when they are unable to work all of their regular hours.
I know that there are many programs for individuals with limited income, but it seems that those who do make a good income and are living squarely in the middle class to upper middle class are the ones that seem hurt the most. These are the individuals who need the most help, specifically because neither the government nor society as a whole ever understands this class and the real economics behind it (i.e. look at the student loan program). So, if anyone is reading this and has ideas of a place for me to start my path on the cause, please give a shout out.
As for my brother, well, keep praying that in two more weeks he will be able to get his next treatment and we can keep cruising along through his last four treatments!
Thursday, May 24, 2007
Monday, May 14, 2007
That 6-Letter Word!
It has been such a long time since I posted anything, but I have been inspired by reading through a friend’s blog to try and write more.
So here I am. It is the middle of May. My brother has been diagnosed with cancer for five months. I haven’t ever really told too many people about it, though I know through the grapevine most of my friends have found out. And, of course, through the ultimate grapevine several others have found out (catch me after two glasses of wine and ask what I’ve been up to lately and I tend to be very talkative. My apologies go to Lisa, Erica and Pam for finding out in such an unconventional way!). To my friends who I have not told directly, it’s not about not wanting you to know, simply not knowing how to bring it up (without the glass of wineJ).
I suppose some history. The Wednesday after Rob and I returned from our honeymoon my brother called me at work to tell me that he was in such pain he was going to the ER. I knew that he had been having pain in his side for a while, but he kept putting off going to a doctor because he thought it was just another hernia of some sort and didn’t have the time to make an appointment (yes, all Hodo’s are identical in their health-care mentality). The doctors were never able to determine 100% what was wrong with him, so they decided to do exploratory surgery in the area of his appendix. The surgery was finally scheduled for Monday morning. My brother was kept in the hospital through the weekend to take antibiotics and saline drips to ensure there was no infection when the surgery began.
That Monday my father and I went down to be with my brother before he went in for surgery and to hopefully take him home that night. I did have a sinking feeling when the surgery took longer than anticipated. Darren and his wife made the trip down and were waiting with Dad and me. Nothing however prepared me or my family for the six letter word that the doctor came into the room and told us. “He has cancer.” I listened, I asked questions, and I watched the look on everyone’s face around the room: shock, fear, incomprehension. The doctor walked out of the room. To this day I am ashamed to say that I walked out too. I say it was to call Rob and tell him the news and ask him to drive down. It wasn’t, though I did do those things. It was facing my greatest fear – those six letters being diagnosed in my family again. It was hearing it again and reliving the first time, no matter how young we all were back then, there are some moments in your life that you remember vividly. It was because I couldn’t be strong for my brother then and I didn’t want him to see me cry.
It was in January when Chris made the decision to do his treatment through Hopkins. He couldn’t start treatment until he healed from the surgery. We (my brother, his best friend and I) made the trek to Hopkins to talk with them about his actual prognosis, his treatment plan, and when we could get started. Unfortunately this proved to be another shocking day for us. The official cancer that Chris has is Stage III-C Colon Cancer. The survival rate with treatment is 50% for a five year period (5-years is simply the unit of measurement used in cancer statistics). But the good news, when they removed the tumor his margins looked pretty good.
Since then, Chris has started his chemotherapy treatment at Hopkins. His treatment is every other Tuesday and I am fortunate enough to work for a company that understands family values and allows me to take every other Tuesday off to be take my brother to his treatment. Our day consists of Chris driving to my house that morning, of which he is always late (Kristen and Chrisi, I am so sorry for all those years of tardiness – it drives me up the wall – though in my own defense, Chris is usually about 30-45 minutes late whereas I was always 10-15!). We head to the hospital to have his port accessed and blood work drawn to see if he is healthy enough to receive his chemo that day. Again, we have been very fortunate that he has been healthy enough every single time! Then we wait for about two hours for the lab to come back and actually tell us he is healthy enough. During that time we go to the cafeteria at the hospital and eat Subway. I can also tell you that after all of this is done – I don’t think that I will ever eat a Subway sandwich again. Then we go back and Chris gets hooked up for several hours, the home nurse shows up when that is over and hooks him to his 46 hour infusion of the final drug which he carries around in a fanny pack. At first he was staying with us for the two days until the home nurse showed up to unhook him. But now, he is feeling strong enough to drive home shortly after his treatment. (not to mention he gets to see his girlfirend at home whereas up here he just hangs with his brother-in-law)
As of writing this entry, he is hnadling treatment very well physically, though the last several treatments showed his blood work getting worse; it hasn't been bad enough to need to change the chemo-cocktail they prepare for him. The next round of blood work to pray for is in 8 days!
I guess through all of this the person who has been “shafted” the most is my own husband. He is the one who has received the full force of my mood swings from being upset at times to just angry at some of my brother’s reactions and of course, the lack of action / reaction from the rest of my family, especially my father.
Of course, having Rob in the hospital at the same time as the prognosis wasn’t fun either. Again,l as of writing this entry, Rob is doing well and we finally received the last blood results that his kidneys were back within the healthy range - though his glucose levels continue to be a problem, they are improving with a new type of medicine that his doctor gve him. Overall though, we can now just look back on his latest health issues as another experience, just as I am hoping and praying that all of this with Chris will just be something else that he and I can look back on and say, “hey, remember when we used to eat all those Subway sandwiches together!”
So here I am. It is the middle of May. My brother has been diagnosed with cancer for five months. I haven’t ever really told too many people about it, though I know through the grapevine most of my friends have found out. And, of course, through the ultimate grapevine several others have found out (catch me after two glasses of wine and ask what I’ve been up to lately and I tend to be very talkative. My apologies go to Lisa, Erica and Pam for finding out in such an unconventional way!). To my friends who I have not told directly, it’s not about not wanting you to know, simply not knowing how to bring it up (without the glass of wineJ).
I suppose some history. The Wednesday after Rob and I returned from our honeymoon my brother called me at work to tell me that he was in such pain he was going to the ER. I knew that he had been having pain in his side for a while, but he kept putting off going to a doctor because he thought it was just another hernia of some sort and didn’t have the time to make an appointment (yes, all Hodo’s are identical in their health-care mentality). The doctors were never able to determine 100% what was wrong with him, so they decided to do exploratory surgery in the area of his appendix. The surgery was finally scheduled for Monday morning. My brother was kept in the hospital through the weekend to take antibiotics and saline drips to ensure there was no infection when the surgery began.
That Monday my father and I went down to be with my brother before he went in for surgery and to hopefully take him home that night. I did have a sinking feeling when the surgery took longer than anticipated. Darren and his wife made the trip down and were waiting with Dad and me. Nothing however prepared me or my family for the six letter word that the doctor came into the room and told us. “He has cancer.” I listened, I asked questions, and I watched the look on everyone’s face around the room: shock, fear, incomprehension. The doctor walked out of the room. To this day I am ashamed to say that I walked out too. I say it was to call Rob and tell him the news and ask him to drive down. It wasn’t, though I did do those things. It was facing my greatest fear – those six letters being diagnosed in my family again. It was hearing it again and reliving the first time, no matter how young we all were back then, there are some moments in your life that you remember vividly. It was because I couldn’t be strong for my brother then and I didn’t want him to see me cry.
It was in January when Chris made the decision to do his treatment through Hopkins. He couldn’t start treatment until he healed from the surgery. We (my brother, his best friend and I) made the trek to Hopkins to talk with them about his actual prognosis, his treatment plan, and when we could get started. Unfortunately this proved to be another shocking day for us. The official cancer that Chris has is Stage III-C Colon Cancer. The survival rate with treatment is 50% for a five year period (5-years is simply the unit of measurement used in cancer statistics). But the good news, when they removed the tumor his margins looked pretty good.
Since then, Chris has started his chemotherapy treatment at Hopkins. His treatment is every other Tuesday and I am fortunate enough to work for a company that understands family values and allows me to take every other Tuesday off to be take my brother to his treatment. Our day consists of Chris driving to my house that morning, of which he is always late (Kristen and Chrisi, I am so sorry for all those years of tardiness – it drives me up the wall – though in my own defense, Chris is usually about 30-45 minutes late whereas I was always 10-15!). We head to the hospital to have his port accessed and blood work drawn to see if he is healthy enough to receive his chemo that day. Again, we have been very fortunate that he has been healthy enough every single time! Then we wait for about two hours for the lab to come back and actually tell us he is healthy enough. During that time we go to the cafeteria at the hospital and eat Subway. I can also tell you that after all of this is done – I don’t think that I will ever eat a Subway sandwich again. Then we go back and Chris gets hooked up for several hours, the home nurse shows up when that is over and hooks him to his 46 hour infusion of the final drug which he carries around in a fanny pack. At first he was staying with us for the two days until the home nurse showed up to unhook him. But now, he is feeling strong enough to drive home shortly after his treatment. (not to mention he gets to see his girlfirend at home whereas up here he just hangs with his brother-in-law)
As of writing this entry, he is hnadling treatment very well physically, though the last several treatments showed his blood work getting worse; it hasn't been bad enough to need to change the chemo-cocktail they prepare for him. The next round of blood work to pray for is in 8 days!
I guess through all of this the person who has been “shafted” the most is my own husband. He is the one who has received the full force of my mood swings from being upset at times to just angry at some of my brother’s reactions and of course, the lack of action / reaction from the rest of my family, especially my father.
Of course, having Rob in the hospital at the same time as the prognosis wasn’t fun either. Again,l as of writing this entry, Rob is doing well and we finally received the last blood results that his kidneys were back within the healthy range - though his glucose levels continue to be a problem, they are improving with a new type of medicine that his doctor gve him. Overall though, we can now just look back on his latest health issues as another experience, just as I am hoping and praying that all of this with Chris will just be something else that he and I can look back on and say, “hey, remember when we used to eat all those Subway sandwiches together!”
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