Guinea pig

In 24 hours, I'll be in Hamilton, starting my new role as a guinea pig.

I haven't really thought about the whole experience beyond the logistics of all the appointments and planning life around them. Oh, and whether my stupid, summer cold will affect my participation. As soon as I went on vacation, I came down with the nasty, head-clogging malady. I suspect it won't make a difference to the clinical trial, but I'm going to call just to make sure.

Today, I'll have to think about heading to Hamilton tomorrow and focus on the activities I need to accomplish before we leave at 6:15 a.m. I'll need to pack a big bag of sandwiches, snacks, drinks for the long day at the cancer centre. Michael and I will need books, movies and crossword puzzles to keep us amused.

We'll also have to determine whether staying in Hamilton tomorrow night is better than coming home and returning Wednesday morning, with the kids in tow. From there we'd continue on to a "vacation" activity in the Hamilton/Toronto area. Of course, my port pain, reduced endurance and this stupid cold will limit the choices. Or Michael and I could stay in Hamilton, do my Wednesday-morning blood draw, return to London and choose a family activity in this area.

All these decisions (and my foggy head) leave me little time to worry about the medication, side effects, blood draws and general cancer-related stuff. Of course, I'm purposefully not focusing on all the details of what will happen tomorrow.

I do know I need to talk to Dr. H about my CT scan. When I asked about it during my phone call with A on Friday, she said there is "lots of stuff on there, cystic stuff. Not solid tumour masses." What the hell does that mean? She said Dr. H thinks it may be pockets of fluid, but he'll talk to me about it on Tuesday.

My CA-125 is an ugly number, just as I expected. A normal CA-125 is less than 35, and mine's a whopping 708 (at the end of July it was 565). But from the 400-600 mL of fluid I drain from my abdomen every day, I know the cancer is having a little party in there. But if it hasn't spread or produced any major masses, perhaps that's good. That's what I'm hoping.

So my newest guinea pig role begins at 8 a.m. tomorrow, when I'll give blood. Then I'll go talk to Dr. H, be examined and ask my questions. After that, I'll head to the chemo suite, where a nurse will put in a IV-type device through which they'll draw the many vials of blood. After taking the Avandia, a diabetic medication, I'll be moved to ambulatory care where I'll give blood at 0.5 hours, 1 hour, 2 hours, 4 hours, 6 hours and 8 hours after swallowing the pill(s). Then I'm free, and only have to return for a single blood draw in the lab on Wednesday and Thursday mornings.

It's going to be a long, tedious day, but then it will be done and I'll move onto the next stage. Wish me luck. (By the way - I really value your prayers and wishes of luck because they got me on the Olaparib last year, and now they slotted me in the Group B. So keep it up! You're a powerful and inspiring group, in many, many ways.)

Tina