Post HSCT – Almost Month 5 Symptoms Update

Patio
My happy place

Got Spasticity?

This is the post where I document, on mostly a monthly basis, the experience/progress/reality of my symptoms; tracking how things are moving. I resisted writing this post because I find myself in the long tunnel of recovery. This is the place where things get worse before they (hopefully) get better. I would like to able to report linear progress and tangible outcomes. That’s not how this works

I knew going into treatment that the first year was likely going to be rough. I knew that many people encountered significant increased spasticity. I knew the beast was coming.  This beast doesn’t move through quickly. It doesn’t sit down and rest quietly by the hearth. This beast is vigilant, relentless, and resistant, impervious to the slings and arrows of my outrageous fortune. So, I do the best I can. I search out tools and tricks to settle the beast down, to distract it, to make it sleepy, if even momentarily.

My sorceress bag includes gabapentin, baclofen, tizanidine, pot, physical therapy, acupuncture, the swimming pool, zero gravity bed positions, pure wave massagers, tiger tail rollers, therapeutic massage, mindfulness meditation, magnesium glycinate, pelvic floor therapy, vibration plates, lion’s mane mushrooms, Valium, Tramadol, sheer force of will.

Medical Experimentation:

Over the last two weeks I have started gabapentin and titrated up to a current dose of 900 mg three times per day. I started at 300 mg three times a day and thought, “hmmm, I feel something. A tickle of relief.” But it wasn’t enough, and I slowly increased to 600 mg three times a day. At first it felt miraculous. It wasn’t perfect, but I could move more fluidly, more freely, I could feel my legs – they belonged to me. But it was fleeting and inconsistent. I read research that reported the sweet spot dosage of 900 mg three times a day. So that’s where I am now. If I want to, I can go as high as 3600 mg (1200mg 3x or 900mg 4x) per day. I will hang at this dose for a while to see if it settles in and evens out. It seems to not work very well in the morning, only coming online mid to early afternoon. I find I feel best in the evening before bed and the worst in the morning getting out of bed.

Research also shows that it can take up to four weeks for the full impact of the medication to take effect, so I will be patient. If I find it gives me relief more often than not, I will begin to wean off the baclofen, carefully this time, and see if I need to be on both.

I am also doing a more scientific, patient way the use of the different RSO (cannibis oil) strains I have found to be valuable. Here is a little of what I’ve learned:

Milky Way RSO:  seems to give some relief but also makes me weirdly high, uncomfortably so. It is not a good high, but a paranoid disconnected one. I don’t understand why because it has very little THC.  I want this one to work for me because it has a high CBG content and that is supposed to positively impact many different areas.  So far, I kinda hate it but I haven’t quite given up yet.

Sour tsunami RSO: this one does not make me feel high until I take a very high dose. Its THC content is the same as Milky Way so I do not understand this. It also doesn’t seem to have the same intensity of impact in terms of relaxation. I am trying to pay attention to it more subtly by doing it throughout the day. The jury is out.

Critical Mass RSO: this one is magic. It absolutely relaxes my body. But it can also make me quite high. It is a lovely, floating, tingly, soak into it sort of high. A lie down with your eyes closed feeling every tingle of the body type of high. It is very helpful with sleep, but too drowsy making for daytime use.

The other thing I’m aware of in writing this post is how difficult it is to express the internal feeling of the body in a way others can understand. Each walking video I provide from month to month likely looks exactly like the other to an observer. But the feelings in my legs, in my knees, in my hips can be wildly different, hour to hour, day to day. My walking is hard right now. My spasticity is through the roof. The pain in my hips and sacrum are constant. But you can’t see that in a video, and I try hard not to dwell on them.

This is one way recovery can look almost five months in. This is the dark part of the heroine’s journey, the place of challenge and fortitude, slaying dragons and monsters, holding faith, holding on, holding hope.

In summary, my spasticity is very high. It is known and expected. It is likely to quiet down, though it can take time – months to years, and for some never. So, I’m living in that belief that I am of the many who just have need to hold tight to the wheel through the big waves to the restful pool at the end. The brain is a powerful thing and can write the story. I intend to know that I did my best.

Symptoms:

Walking and legs:  this is pretty much covered in the writing above.  High spasticity, hip pain, lots of experimentation.

Arm function: ugh.  All my energy and attention has been focused on what’s going on in my legs and I really don’t have bandwidth to put the spotlight here.

Bladder: I feel like this is getting better.  I can go longer between trips to the bathroom.  I still feel urgency and some leakage.  I see a pelvic floor therapist this week and I’m excited about that.  More to come.

Bowel:  Mostly continues to be normal.  For some reason I don’t understand I’ve had significant bloating last couple of weeks.

NEW SYMPTOM – Hot Flashes: I have been postmenopausal since 2017.  I had minimal hot flashes throughout the menopausal process.  Lucky me, they are back!  It is a known thing that the chemotherapy agent cyclophosphamide impacts hormones and can put women into menopause early.  Given that I was already postmenopausal, I didn’t think this would impact me.  Well, it did.  I’m having more hot flashes than I was during menopause.  Fun.

Hair: Hair growth is to the point I no longer look like a cancer survivor.  I am fast approaching the decision point of whether to keep at it this length or grow it out.  I’ll leave you with that cliffhanger!

Hair front view

Hair side view

Hair side view

Post HSCT – Month 4 Musings

Cassie 1

Constellation Cassieopia

Musings for this month. It’s been a whirlwind since I last wrote. Not even sure exactly where to start. My daughter and her boyfriend moved back home after college graduations to live with us for the next six months or so – lots of transitions and moving parts. Shortly after their arrival my daughter’s boyfriend went into the hospital with a ruptured appendix and we all had that as our focus for about a week.

We got to breathe for a couple of days and then on my birthday, On Monday, June 20, we woke up to Cassie, our 14-year-old beautiful mutt of a dog, drooling and panting, obviously in distress. “The kids” had made a beautiful birthday and Father’s Day breakfast for us which got lost in the upheaval. We had to grab food and eat on the run as we took Cassie to the emergency vet clinic.

We learned that Cassie had cancer on both her spleen and liver. It also appeared something had ruptured and she was bleeding into her abdomen.  They gave her medication to keep her comfortable and to hopefully stop the bleeding and sent her home. She was comfortable that afternoon, through the night, and into the next morning.

When we woke, she was extremely lethargic. With any real movement or exertion, she would breathe heavily, pant, and drool. Around noon, Nils and I looked at each other, both wishing we had more time, knowing we didn’t. Kira came home from the farm at lunch, and we all spent the afternoon petting and laying with Cassie, giving her bites of anything she wanted to eat, crying, telling stories, saying goodbye.

Cuddling Cassie

We were lucky to find a vet who could come to our home to help us let Cassie finally rest. It was solstice, a day of transition that pulled on our hearts at with a deeper meaning this year. The day with the most light and the least dark is the day our girl chose to say goodbye. She was nothing but light in our lives and the lives of anyone who met her. Around 6 PM on Tuesday, June 21, sweet Cassiopeia Rain left us with cavernous and tender heartbreak. She also left us with the gift of 14 incredibly beautiful years.

I’m here now little over a week later still grieving and feeling the weight of loss on my heart. I hear her many times a day as a gentle exhale, tags rattling, nails on the floor. I look for her at the door to come inside or go out. She was my shadow and I feel her so nearby still.

Add to this the political landscape of my (and all women in this country’s) personhood and body becoming even more of a second-class citizen without autonomy, less restrictions on the unnecessary weapons of intimidation and murder in our communities, less legal ability of our government to fight devastating climate change, the insertion of religion into our school system-the merging of church and state in the context of our children’s learning – to name only the most potent of the gut punches of the last two weeks to an already stressed out, running on fumes body.

woman screaming at a wall

The Body Keeps the Score

I share this as a segue into my body and recovery. The body holds grief, stress, and trauma in its cells, in its tissue, in its fluids. This is true for all of us, whether we notice or not. Living with a chronic disease makes it impossible to not notice. All the challenged, vulnerable places become more intense; it amplifies the disconnects, it amplifies the tightness, it amplifies fatigue. It increases the heat, and it brings pain more to the surface, louder, more complaining.

That is been my body these last weeks. spasticity more intense, hip pain more, many things resonating at much higher, uncomfortable level.

Body Trauma

The other factor that is hard to quantify is the degree that this increase, and rather sudden change, in spasticity is chemotherapy related. This is the theory I am choosing to invest in because of the way the spasticity is showing up; it is very different than what I had prior to treatment. With this theory in mind, it is also likely transient and will let up at some point, even though that “some point” could be eight months to a year.

My physiatrist is having me try different medications to find a cocktail that works to get my spasticity and pain better managed. I am becoming more patient and scientific with medications and anything else I am trying as an intervention. This means trying one thing at a time instead of throwing everything on it frantically, all at once, which has been my instinct when things are so uncomfortable. Pain makes it difficult to be patient.

My doctor’s first instinct was to figure out how to help me sleep better. Perhaps if I slept better, more deeply, would that help the symptoms quite down. We tried Valium 5 mg at nighttime. I think it maybe helped some, though not dramatically enough to feel excited or that it was worth it. I tried it for a week, then I did a week without it, then tried it for a couple more days. Maybe?

We are now trying gabapentin. This is an antiseizure medication commonly used for nerve pain. I am starting at 300 mg three times a day. I started on Monday evening and immediately felt benefit. I also felt more energy, more lightness. That held true the whole next day. Wednesday I instead felt a crush of fatigue, which is a common side effect of gabapentin, and I also felt less benefit.

It is now Thursday, and I am feeling somewhere in the middle. It is hard to tell if it is the gabapentin or two nights of poor sleep. So many complicating factors. I plan to give it a week at this dose and then begin to increment up. I’m optimistic based on the first couple of days. The upper limit of gabapentin is 1200 mg three times a day or a total of 3600 mg per day. All depends on how you tolerate the side effects. I am carefully weaving in the strains of cannabis have found make the most difference in trying to find that careful balance between benefit and “high as a kite”. I have also fully weaned off of tramadol at night for pain.

Something deeper?

Today I had a significant mind shift. I have been thinking, unconsciously and habitually (my Gemini nature?), of my body as something to be pushed, cajoled, tinkered with, fixed. I have schedules, routines, targets and goals, urgency, and desperation. This is an outside looking in perspective. I am doing things “to” my body with an ache to get back what I’ve lost and a grasping, time-is-running-out, energy.

I am not sure why today, but I stepped in to surrender (at least for now) and a quiet pause. Today I chose to relate to my body like I’m learning an instrument, or courting a lover, or making a new dear friend. This means slowing way-the-fuck-down to take stock. This means breathing deeply with each movement. This means sometimes leaning into pain with gentleness but also persistence. This means letting up when my body says “that’s enough”. This means being present enough to notice the difference.

This means no longer tracking repetitions or hours or exercises. This means getting down on the floor or sitting in a chair or standing against a wall and listening as my body says what’s next. It is a sacred humbling.

Surrender

I had tears move through today as Cassie came into my mind and heart. A quiet moved into me as I felt things settling in to place. It feels like an important shift, like a caretaking, loving hand, a safe place. It feels like a place I don’t spend much time and it would serve me to learn this place better.

That is where I will leave this story for now.