Tuesday, Jinni was sick as hell and she just wasn't going to take it any more. After having to leave work and spending the rest of the 90+ degree day wrapped up in a blanket in the living room she decided to call her oncologist for an appointment. She was convinced, and I concurred, that something just had to give. Her energy level was near zero.
We knew that the effects of twelve weekly infusions of Taxatere were to be cumulative instead of immediate, but if she felt as bad as she did after the first seven treatments, what would the next five weeks have in store? We weren't willing to find out without exploring some options. Even though she was scheduled to get her next round of the drug today, we wanted answers yesterday. Mainly she wanted to try to convince the oncologist that she thought she might possibly be able to endure eight weeks of the drug, but twelve? ... In her mind, it just wasn't going to happen.
After a long consultation with the finest nurse-practitioner on the planet, Jinni's problem became apparent. She was losing weight at an alarming rate. Because of the metallic taste that Taxatere induces in her mouth Jinni has been eating like a bird for some time now. And when she does eat a little something, many times it won't stay down very long. When she started chemotherapy back in November she weighed in at a lithe132, as of yesterday she was at 117. The last time they took her weight was 1 1/2 weeks ago when she was at 124. Losing 7 pounds in under two weeks raises all kinds of red flags among the medical crowd.
The nurse went and told the doctor what was going on and he popped into the room with his plan of action. "First", he said, "I'm going to give you a break. I'm cancelling your treatment for tomorrow." With that, tears of gratitude welled up in Jinni's eyes as a glimmer of hope for a little normalcy crept into the examination room. "Then I am am going to change your dosage, this is obviously too much for you. You gotta eat, you know...", he continued. More glimmers.
He went on to say that she would not get out of taking all twelve treatments because he was going to tack the skipped one onto the backend of the regimen. But by lowering the doseage, things would certainly be much more tolerable and hopefully her constant nausea would diminish and her appetite would return.
Also, because it seems none of the high-folutin' nausea medicines have been doing their job, she spoke to the nurse and doctor about wanting to try 'medicinal marijuana'. Citing the presence of teenagers in the house, she has been reticent to find out how it might work for her. She said she could just imagine one of our kids sensing the smell of weed coming from the bedroom and how much of a buzz kill that might be. The doctor understood her point and prescribed a surprising new drug: Marinol. 'Mary Jane' in pill form. We'll see how it works (emphasis on the 'we'll' part).
As we left the Cancer Center after the hour long appointment, Jinni had a definite spring in her step. When we got outside she sang like a little kid, "Naa n na naa na... noo chemo to mor row.", as her spirits and energy level popped back to more familiar levels.
Best. doctor. visit. ...ever.
7:15:35 AM 
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