The Backstory, part five

The biopsy results wouldn't come back for about a week, so I went about updating my other doctors, but I ended up in emergency two weeks ago, one-thirty am.  A sore throat is low on the triage list, so it was three am before I saw anyone, and five am before I actually got some morphine and fluids.  I still managed to sleep for the first time in a week, and it was glorious. 

The emergency doctor gave me an option:  I could try to see an ENT that day, but it would take hours, and I might not be successful, or, if I could tough it out, I could see the wonderful fellow who'd done the biopsy that Friday morning at 9am.  I got a doggy bag of morphine and went in at nine, where it was immediately confirmed that I had a t-cell lymphoma in my throat.  I got rushed into the ER and hooked up to fluids and painkillers.  I spent the weekend at St. Paul's hospital, getting liquids into me and having the occasional doctor visit and test done.  Monday afternoon, I was moved to Royal University Hospital, to a lovely single room, and things have continued.  I've had CTs and X-rays, had a picc line installed, and have generally been awaiting the final results from that first biopsy, so that a proper line of treatment could be assigned. 

I should probably go back and talk to my ENT (the good one), because I'm pretty sure I was his first, "I'm sorry, it's cancer."  My response, being, "good, now we can f*ing get something done!" was probably atypical, and I feel like I should warn him about that so that next time he doesn't pull out party hats and streamers and yell "MAZELTOV, it's a tumour!" *dance*dance*dance*

At the time of this writing, I'd just finished my first day of chemotherapy.  I am still an inpatient, while we wait for my throat to heal up enough from the prednisone that I can feed myself in a competent manner (I'm on a liquid diet) and get off the TPN (total parental nutrition) that I've been getting for a week.  TPN is basically science milk, and it's going straight into my veins, but it's hard on the liver, so we want off of this crazy ride quickly, please.  

There was nausea later from the chemo.  Orange jello and milk foam.  I will never feel the same way about milk, or jello, for the rest of my life.

It looks like I'll probably be getting a stem-cell transplant (formerly a bone marrow transplant - science has gotten better at this), and while that would act as a total cure, it is not a for sure happening.  I won't know for some time if that is the treatment path that we're pursuing, but I am very much hoping so.  It'd mean a month as a bubble boy, but the bubble boy rooms at RUH are swanky.  There is a 47" tv hanging off the wall opposite the foot of the bed.  High speed internet, iPod doc stereo, exercise bike, giant windows, huge stainless steel bathtub.  If you're going to be cooped up for a month, this is the way to do it.  I can bring in my PS3 and laptop, I can still have visitors.   That month would buy me a new immune system.  I would be completely lymphoma free.  Healthy.  It's almost too much to think about.

In the meantime, It's chipper is as chipper does and I'm keeping my sense of humour about me.  I don't want a pity party.  That shit is depressing.  

END BACKSTORY.  RESUME CURRENT LIFE NARRATIVE.