Sorry for being such a drip...

 

Today was full of not completely unexpected news. I'd had a bone marrow biopsy on my birthday at the end of August and was required to have another one done mid-last week. The reason behind this (no pun intended in regards to the location of said biopsies) was because Dr. V didn't like what the initial biopsy showed. Unfortunately, there was a question to the validity of the result because they also felt the core sample obtained was too small to provide them with a definitive result. 

We went in this morning fully expecting "something" to be not quite right and that's exactly what we got. While there is no emergency situation here, it does appear the cancer is on the uptick and a change in regime is required to put that little beastie back into its proper place. Dr. V is adding Daratumumab (which initially looks like the name of an Egyptian ruler when you see at it); also known as Darzalex. "Today, we open the sarcophagus of the mighty ruler, Daratumumab!"

This will be working alongside my current meds: Venetoclax (Venclexta), Cytoxin (Kyprolis) and Dexamethasone ("Asshole"), amongst others. For those of you who have experienced Daratumumab, this is old news to you, but for the rest of you, this is how things are going to proceed.

I am expected to start my first infusion next Friday (October 16) at 7:15 AM. "Why so early?" you ask. Well, my friend, it's because the first infusion takes 8 to 10 hours to complete. Your follow-up question is likely to be, "Why does it take so long?" The reason it takes so long is that 70% of the people who receive it experience--how shall we say it--"distress" during the process. This distress comes in the form of the closing of your throat, itching, sudden high fever and body aches. It's all good fun until the distress shows up! So they go slowly and they monitor you. They are also on standby in the event the flight attendant reaches into their cart and gives you a complementary serving of distress. The nurses will ply you with a massive dose of Benadryl and other goodies in order to make you feel less terrible so you can continue your infusion and they (and you) can go home at 5 PM. 

Spoiler alert: You get to come back the next week to do this again, but for an expected 6 to 8 hours, which seems incredibly short when you compare it to the previous week's exploits. Again, the nurses are on standby in case you enjoyed that first course of distress and decided to come back for more. The following week sees you in the chair for a very paltry 90 minutes with no need for a rescue because your body can handle this now. Unfortunately, it's 90 minutes in addition to however long it takes them to also infuse you with Kyprolis--which they also need to do on the previous two weeks. Bring a book, a film or a voodoo doll of your least favourite politician. 

This 90-minute ride will continue for the rest of the time the drug manages to hold off the enemy. But you get 9 consecutive weeks of that, followed by 16 weeks weeks of "every other week", and conclude with a "forever" once a month infusion. 

As I've previously stated, having cancer is a full-time job and if you have a full-time job, it's pretty exhausting. As you can see, there are a couple days that are full-time days plus overtime. I'll let you know how things go next week and tell you about the bumpy ride that I'm certain lays ahead for me.

Until next time...