4/4/2012
Well, I’m checked
into the Uniklinik for phase 2 of the autologous (my own) stem cell
treatment. This consists of another round
of chemo (probably tomorrow) and some preliminaries today. The first was more blood drawing – 6 vials –
through my Frankenport. The pros here
love it when I bare my upper right chest and demonstrate that I’m a fully
equipped cancer patient with the chest port option. I know the drill pretty well and come
prepared with the right sorts of shirts to facilitate access. I know you’re supposed to swell out your
chest as they drive the needle straight into the lump formed by the
subcutaneous bubble that is the port.
The gal today demonstrated the chest puffing technique for me and
instructed me to pose like – you gotta love this – Stalin! (I no longer have “hair like Stalin” for all
you Seinfeld fans – Kruhschev might have been the better comparison or, the
non-communist chest-sweller lookalike might be old Il Duce himself) She went on
to explain that she’s from the GDR (former East Germany), home of many a
Communist monument. I’ve always wished,
as a card-carrying historian, that I could have picked up a smallish genuine
Lenin bust after the Wall fell – not out of admiration for the monster
man but as an interesting artifact and possible rotten fruit target.
From blood draws I
went on to the EKG octopus. I guess it’s
fairly routine but until Germany I’d never had an EKG that used suction sensors
– kinda freaky and, yes, there were eight tentacles clinging to me until
release. From there, Diane and I walked
across campus to the center where stem cells are harvested to fill out forms,
sign waivers and learn the drill.
Somewhere around ten days after this chemo I’ll be hooked up to a sort
of dialysis machine that pulls the required bits from my blood. This five-hour process could fulfill the
target amount in on go round or I may require a second and even a third
filtering – I’m in favor of the one-time deal.
Then it was back
to the main hospital where I was sent up to Station Thannhauser, my home away
from home. We were shown to a private
room – the excitement built – but we were quickly disabused of this hope when
the nurse came in and said she didn’t think it would last. In fact, it lasted long enough for the next
step, the bone marrow biopsy. I
wimpishly (but really, who likes bone pain?) stated my preference for a drug
induced nap for this and they obliged and an hour later I woke up with no pain,
slightly less bone marrow and a transportation team that shifted me next door
to one of my rooms from the last stay.
Not the balcony room but I scored the window bed. I also scored a late lunch – tortellini, not
bad.
Once fed and barely
settled it was off to a lung function test. This is a three-stage process that
begins with a daub of goop on the left earlobe.
The technician said it might get to feeling hot – it didn’t. Following a few minutes of having the goop on
the lobe another techie came out and pricked the ear (with a suspiciously high
degree of vigor) and secured a pipette of blood. I should have asked for a gold ring for that
ear while they were at it. Then it was
into the glass booth for breathing into the snorkel followed by more snorkeling
on/into a device outside the booth. I passed
with flying colors and was sent on my way.
I did not pass the find your way back to the room test with flying
colors however – I took a few wrong turns (I hadn’t paid close attention on the
way there) until I found a few land marks outside the windows that set my
personal GPS back into the right mode.
So, back in room
5 and finally unpacked there was another flurry of personnel doing vitals,
asking questions, giving me information I already had, etc. when another
Transporter (person, not a device from Star Trek) showed up to escort me back
to the zone where I’d had my EKG, this time for an echocardiogram (sonogram of
the heart). This was to be my third in
three months. Apart from jelly all over
the belly it’s a pretty easy test and you get to see your heart valves flap on
the screen and who wouldn’t want to see that.
Alles gut! (nothing has changed through all rounds of chemo – all is
good).
Back again to the
room – no wandering this time, the route was familiar.
Somewhere in the
middle of all this I met the roomie.
He’s an electrical engineering student who had a successful bone marrow
treatment but is in for a “graft versus host” infection – something I won’t
face with my transplant because I’ll be both graft and host.
When I first got
to the room I “kipped” the window (for you Auslanders, most German windows are
casements that swing in or can be tipped diagonally inward hinged at the bottom
or “kipped”) to let in some nice fresh cool spring air. The window was closed when I returned from
testing – hmm. This can be a point of
tension. Many Germans, including highly educated and experienced medical
personnel, believe the root cause of many ailments is a breeze. Literally, a breeze, meaning moving air. Air conditioning is a close second as a chief
suspect behind ill health – after all it’s just artificially cooled MOVING
AIR!!! I remember back when we were in
Germany before and our daughter Amanda needed an evaluation for some breathing
difficulties she was having, the first questions asked by Professor Klein (Dr.
Little) were, “Have you been sitting near an open window? Have you been riding in the car with an open
window? Does your car have air
conditioning?” I suppose that would have
made us bad parents if any of those were answered in the affirmative but, being
wintertime, we passed the test.
Now, the bathroom
window is open and it’s nice and cool in there but the door to it remains
shut. Here we see the principle of
“lufting” (airing) in action. Daily
lufting is part of the German haushalt routine. You see one wants to change the
air in a room but one doesn’t want to be there when it’s happening – too
dangerous! If you don’t luft for at
least fifteen minutes a day you’re considered a slacker in the home maintenance
department. There is some degree of
sensibility in this especially in newer German houses that are built especially
“tight”. Lufting can prevent molds from building
up.
Dinner was a less
than appetizing cold chicken schenkel (leg&thigh) but the evening meal is
usually not too big a thrill in the hospital.
European custom puts the big meal at midday so some cold something is
usually the supper star.
After dinner the
attending doc and his entourage came in with some good news – No lymphoma in my
bone marrow. When I was first diagnosed
I had nothing but lymphoma where my bone marrow was supposed to be. So this is very good news – actual data (in
addition to the CT scan of a few weeks ago) that reinforces the conviction that
I’m responding well to the therapy. This
is also a good sign for the transplant to go forward. What we don’t want to see happen is a
transplantation of lymphoma back into my system and this test increases the
likelihood of a good stem cell harvest.
The sky has
cleared and it looks like we’re setting up for a sweet sunset. I close this awaiting an infusion of saline
to prime the pumps for tomorrow.
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