I need more iron!

I went to the oncologist Friday for two reasons.  First, to meet with Pat Parsons to discuss the new drug that they’d like to add to the arsenal o’ poison that will make up my chemo cocktail.  Pat was very, very thorough as she explained all the pros & cons of participating in this trial.  All in all, the pros outweighed the cons.  This drug is already given (with good results) under different circumstances.  Basically, it blocks the blood supply to tumors growing in different areas of my body, thus cutting off their life line & killing them.  We have no evidence that my cancer has metastasized, but this will be a bit of insurance that if it has, it gets stopped in its tracks.  Kind of like Raid – kills cancer dead.

The other reason I went was to get an iron infusion to help get my hemoglobin counts up prior to chemo.  Nothing like being a few quarts low.  But, & here’s where my previous post is going to make you smile, my stupid insurance wasn’t going to cover it!  Apparently, they wanted me to have the infusion at the hospital, 300 yards down the road.  Yup, it was a matter of geography.  So, the insurance ladies at the oncologist’s office are arguing with them.  However, I still stand by my claim that I’d rather have my own private insurance company in lieu of a government run program! 

Now, here’s the funny thing.  I’ve been operated on 3 times in one month & have had my blood drawn & tested at least 10 times in the same time period.  Why is it a mystery to the doctors that I have a low blood cell count?  I’d have more blood in me if I was Dracula’s human mistress!

I’m beginning to think that if one other person sticks a blood pressure cuff on me, puts a thermometer in my ear, looks in my mouth, pokes around my neck, attaches probes to all my appendages, digs into my tummy, inspects my boob, looks under my now hairy armpit, has me pee in a cup,  makes me take off the “hider” bandage over my incision to inspect my lovely scar, weighs me (which now is just a complete insult since I won’t be losing weight during chemo), inserts an IV, has me fill out a 3-5 page form, drink gallons of thick, disgusting liquid, asks me to stand in front of some sort of imaging machine or lie down while I’m being inserted into some sort of nuclear tunnel (while they run behind a protective barrier), or DRAWS MORE BLOOD, I’m going to turn into a raging lunatic.  Well, more of a raging lunatic than is normal for me.  The funny thing is, I actually get told, “be sure to get some rest”.   Aaaaagggghhhh!

But, on the bright side, this will be over in about a year.  Hopefully, I'll have nice big hooters to show for all of this.  And maybe I'll find that like Dolly Parton, I like wigs.  It takes a lot of money to look this cheap!

Up next, we got the ok for the iron infusion; I’ll go tomorrow after I see Dr. Morrissey.  I’ll keep you posted!