You are looking at posts that were written in the month of April in the year 2008.
Posted on April 17th, 2008 by Cam.
Categories: Let's talk.
Today was my stem cell transplant. We arrived about 8:30 this morning. The whole process took until about 4:30 this afternoon.
First I was hydrated solidly for about 4 hours via drip. Then a concoction of premeds was loaded into me. I basically just lay down for the whole day solidly. Thankfully I was given some sedatives to take away the restlessness. I did not sleep at all well last night. My body ached with an insatiable yearning to move around and get out of this body with the tubes sticking out of it.
All night I just lay awake thinking of people who have it worse than I. I had these graphic images in my semi-slumber of people who are sick that don’t have access to medical facilities. Images also of people being tortured came to mind. I have tubes hanging out of my body in order to prolong my life, while some people in the world have procedures done on them to reduce their life or make it more painful. It was a very uneasy feeling, but one that made me so grateful I am going through what I am going through for a positive outcome.
Now I am back home, the folks have just left after visiting, and Libs is cooking up some soup. The other major thing that hits us hard is how people go through this process alone. I could not imagine it, but on the occasion I come close, it feels like the loneliest feeling in the world. I can’t imagine being this sick and having to make it without Libs, my folks, sisters & BILs, and friends to get me through. I am certainly one lucky bunny.
Posted on April 17th, 2008 by Cam.
Categories: All The Videos, Let's talk.
1. Driving to the hospital yesterday morning for high-dose chemo.
2. Just before I head down to ‘recovery’ for the central line to be put in. I think they should call it ‘discovery’ because they took an awful long time to find the way to my heart.
3. The tubes are in and I am just about to start the chemo, starting by sucking the ice for a while.
Posted on April 16th, 2008 by Cam.
Categories: Let's talk.
This ‘being brought to the brink of death’ thing sucks.
Only the first day, so I can’t complain. But I just feel like I can’t get comfortable. The biggest achievement was to walk through the park with my sisters and Libs. Then I just slept this afternoon. Just had dinner, about to head to bed again. Sleeping has actually been quite relaxing and I slept well last night. Stem cell transplant tomorrow.
Goodnight.
Posted on April 15th, 2008 by Cam.
Categories: Let's talk.
I have just returned home from the hospital in the last hour or so. A big day. The full procedure went ahead as scheduled and my marrow is officially dissolving. No turning back.
Things went mostly well. I was expecting the central line to be the biggest hurdle of the day, but it turned out bigger than we all expected. The procedure usually takes about 10-15 minutes. They had great difficulty getting through my chest wall and after 4 or 5 attempts, two different Anesthetists and about 40 minutes, they decided it wasn’t going to happen. This whole time I reckon I could have cracked walnuts between my butt cheeks.
I was fine at first but I have a history of needing a high dose of anesthetics or sedatives in order for them to work. When I had my first hip biopsy, they used three times the usual amount because I was still carrying a conversation the whole time. Even then I still remember the whole thing. I fell asleep after I asked to see the sample that had come out. Today was quite similar. They were injecting local anesthetic constantly it seemed, and then it would wear off because it was taking so long, so they would inject more.
After about half and hour, I was just over it. I was exhausted. After the 40 mins, they whipped out the unsuccessful line in the chest and scrubbed down my neck. The senior Anesthetist took over once again and the line went in fairly easily. Apparently I had too much muscle in my chest wall. I know, I didn’t believe them either, but I was just happy that they got it in somewhere. To be honest, one of the most painful parts of the ordeal was the ripping off of the sticky gauze from the partially hairy chest. They should really knock you out for that part. It would only be fair.
So I was away for about three and a half hours all up, and therefore late for the actual chemo dose. This can be bad, because the expiry on the Melphalan is quite quick once it has been prepared. I was hooked up quick smart and the chemo went in 5 minutes before it reached its expiry time.
The chemo itself was an anticlimax. I didn’t realise I was actually hooked up and getting the dose until about 20 minutes into it, and then I didn’t realise it was all over until about 10 minutes the drip had come out. Then it just came down to picking up a vast array of new drugs from the chemist and a cup of ice to suck on the way home.
Only now am I beginning to feel a little tired. I haven’t eaten much all day though, and my body has been through a bit of stress, on top of the chemo itself. Going to rest tonight I think. No more handstands for a while, I am too scared an assortment of body fluids will leak out of one of the three tubes in my neck.
Posted on April 14th, 2008 by Cam.
Categories: Let's talk.
It is closing in on D-Day. Had a good day really. We had nothing planned until we remembered last night I had tests to do this morning, so I started the day back at the hospital to whizz and bleed.
Then headed to the beach. Soothing. This is the last time I will be able to swim for a while as I will have a tube hanging out of my chest for the next month. It was a sensational day, 32 degrees and calm – just perfect. For those of you who love a good metaphor, here is a photo for you:
I am ready for this next phase, physically and mentally. I clipped 100kgs last week (220lbs in the old money), so I think I have done my part to beef up for this chemo. This may be the closest you get to a ‘before’ shot. I haven’t airbrushed it, promise.
Get a load of that! This body has been brought to you by Hungry Jacks/Burger King. (‘Well send it back!’ I hear you say?)
Anyway, The next part of the day was actually spent doing a quick shop in the city for a hat and beanie for when the hair falls out and the head gets a little chilly.
I have been overwhelmed by people’s generosity and support through this whole time, but today more than ever. We are very grateful for the emails, texts, comments on this blog and the gifts. It has been a massive lead up to this day that we head into tomorrow, and we are in great shape thanks to the people who have supported us in all the different ways possible.
We are at the hospital just before 9 tomorrow morning (Tuesday) for our appointment with the team at the Haematology Care Centre. I start off with a visit to recovery (which, if you ask me, is ironic) to have my central line put in. I had a doctor friend explain the procedure to me during the weekend which was significantly helpful.
I then need to suck ice for half an hour before the chemo is administered. There is only one dose of this cocktail and the reason it is injected straight into the heart is because it is the biggest pool of blood where the chemo can be dispersed rapidly. If it is injected straight into a vein in the arm for example, it will do significant damage to the vessel. It will also do damage to the entire digestive tract, where rapidly dividing mucus producing cells will be affected. It is for this reason that I need to suck the ice, causing a lower rate of blood flow to the mouth and therefor lessening the damage done to the mouth lining. Fantastic.
So I don’t at all feel nervous, and to be honest, I feel like I am just carting a fleshy mass around to drop off for a service, it is just that I have to hang around until the service is complete. I have heard a lot of talk about childbirth and various other medical procedures recently. I would much rather be going through my day tomorrow compared to what others have experienced.
For me, although nervousness not an issue, it is certainly a turning point, and one that we approach with both awe and fragility. It is like leaving a place that you have lived in for a very long time, knowing that you will not return for a very long time, if at all. And if you do return, you know it is not going to be the same as you remember it. This kind of turning point is worth approaching with some sense of reverence, as you would mark an occasion with much contemplation, reflection, excitement and sadness. That is where we sit tonight, well, that is where I sit. Libs is feeling the same but is vacuuming around me at the moment, after blitzing the rest of the house to make it as clean as possible before tomorrow. God, she’s good.
If this cup can pass from me, that would be great. Otherwise, bring it on.
Posted on April 12th, 2008 by Cam.
Categories: Let's talk.
We have been doing a lot lately, especially catching up with people and getting things in place for the next few months. We have only got a few things to do before Tuesday. One is choosing a hat.
On Wednesday we went to an information day on Multiple Myeloma organised by the Leukemia Foundation of Western Australia. A pharmacist spoke first and explained the chemotherapy drugs that are currently used today for MM treatment and then a specialist doctor presented on the topic of the treatment itself. It was quite helpful getting a bit more background. I was definitely the youngest one in the room.
I am feeling my body getting sore again. I don’t know if it is just because I am tired or my body is craving the steroids it was expecting last week. I just need to make it to Tuesday and I can relax, so it seems, for the next phase to start.
This last week or so has been highlighting to me how much I love my family and friends. Being able to spend time with them has been the priority, and I plan to continue this habit.
I am just realizing how difficult I am finding it to think at the moment. This simple post has taken almost an hour to write. I guess I have a lot on my mind.
Posted on April 11th, 2008 by Cam.
Categories: Let's talk.
I have got 5 days before heading to the hospital to receive my high-dose chemotherapy. It is now more daunting, rather than just wanting to get onto it. It is kind of like a turning point. Medically, we are relying on this chemo and the following stem cell transplant to put me into remission. But the chemo itself will take its toll on my body, and I am not looking forward to this really.
There was a church Minister in town this last week who is a bit of a guru in the area of healing. A few friends let me know about him and encouraged me to go along so last night I did.
I was kind of reluctant, to be honest. I was reluctant mainly because I have already had prayer for healing and I believe completely that God can heal me, and has heard our prayer for healing. My belief has been that if I really believe that God can heal me, why do I need to keep on going to various people to ‘receive healing’. Does it mean that I lost hope in the last batch of prayer, or that I need to top up the level of hope for healing?
I haven’t lost hope in our prayers to be healed. Medically speaking, there is no cure for Multiple Myeloma. All treatment that I receive from now on has the purpose of prolonging a life expectancy. I do believe that God can heal me totally. I find it difficult to believe that a Creator doesn’t have the capacity to completely restore the created. I mean, as my sister put it, ‘If our faith doesn’t mean anything at a time like this, then it doesn’t mean anything at all.’
Many people got healed last night. Legs got longer, lifelong injuries and sicknesses took leave, people who had not walked properly for a long time were running around, just like you may see on tv from a skeptics perspective. And I believe these healings are true. The healings that Jesus was involved with during his time in flesh were amazing also, and I believe them to be true. If I didn’t believe them to be true then quite frankly I wouldn’t waste my time piss-farting around having my hopes built up, or being involved in building others’ hopes up for the sake of something that could be a farce.
One of the people involved in the healing last night stated that there was someone here that had a sickness of the bone marrow. I stuck my hand up so people knew who and what to pray for. The congregation was also asked who had been diagnosed with a terminal cancer. I put my hand up again. Some dear friends and some strangers also were part of the group that prayed for me. Rachel, Mike and Elizabeth were also with me. They prayed against the cancer.
After the time of prayer, people were asked to check to see if their symptoms had disappeared. I actually have been feeling quite well recently, and there is nothing that I can really ‘check’ like lumps, bumps, etc. So I wasn’t sure if I was healed or not. Even with blood tests, urine tests and scans, this cancer is very difficult to nail both in diagnosis and monitoring.
Here lies the problem.
There is a train of thought that would say in a situation like this, one should put their faith into action by not going through with the medical intervention (in this case, my next round of chemo and stem cell transplant). This is a big call, as you can imagine. I know that some people have taken this approach and things turn out okay. I also know of people who have taken this approach and things turn out very poorly. If a person is willing to make a decision not to go through with medical intervention in order to let their faith do the talking, I do not know what more could be done to demonstrate their belief. But when some folks live and some folks die as a result of the same decision, it leads me to believe that there is something else needing consideration.
I do not believe, at this point in time, that there is a formula to be followed so that healing takes place. I don’t know why some people are healed and others not. I know of some very faithful and prayerful people who did not receive healing. And I don’t know why they didn’t.
The effects of being in a broken world are severe. I believe sickness, along with injury and sadness, are endured by humanity because we are living in this broken world. Biblically, this brokenness is called sin. If sin weren’t so nasty, I wouldn’t be using the word ‘broken’ when the less dramatic term ‘shop soiled’ would do the job.
I accept and admit that I am still learning about how this all fits together. If medical intervention cures me, will God get the credit, or will my Doctors? I think they all should get a round of applause, personally. What medicine has done to sustain me has been miraculous. The way God has sustained me has been miraculous. The passion shown by those who treat me medically demonstrate aspects of God’s character, although it can be difficult to understand at the time a pelvis biopsy is taking place. Maybe God is more interested in who gets the credit for our living day to day than an extension of life or an increase in comfort that results from a healing.
Anyway, this morning I woke up sore and tired. I didn’t feel better than yesterday. I was kind of hoping that I would wake up this morning, jump out of bed doing cart-wheels and whizzing out para-protein-free urine (not at the same time, mind you). So I don’t really know the state of my health at this time, but whatever the outcome, you may be glad to know it hasn’t changed the character of God one iota.
Posted on April 7th, 2008 by Cam.
Categories: Let's talk.

Us on a sensational beach, very much like all the other beaches in WA.

One not to show my Orthopedic specialist. This is the ‘before’ picture, showing how fabulously fit I am before high-dose. I am pretty sure the ‘after’ picture will show those same robust arms clinging to a toilet bowl.

My wonderful cousin (they all are) Conor and her hubby DJ spoiled us by organising a looking after by Knee Deep winery, just outside of Dunsborough. And look after us they did. Highly recommend the food, wine and service.

I got this candid picture capturing Elizabeth in a natural moment.

Elizabeth got this candid picture capturing me in a natural moment.
Posted on April 7th, 2008 by Cam.
Categories: Let's talk.
When you begin understand and share in someone else’s grief, you may join with them in crying. But there is a kind of crying where you just can’t get words out. The kind of crying where you gasp for breath, your throat stings with pain, your eyes are swollen, you look a mess and your voice doesn’t respond to your brain’s efforts to utter an intelligible sound.
I wonder if this was God’s intention when piecing us together, a way of saying, “Don’t say a thing, just weep with those who are weeping.”
Posted on April 4th, 2008 by Cam.
Categories: Let's talk.
Libs and I are AWOL from this morning, heading down to Bunker Bay to eat as much food, drink as much wine, swim in as many oceans, walk through as many forests, have as many afternoon naps, watch as many sunsets etc. as we feel like. Be back next week.
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