I had my first infusion of maintenance carfilzomib and pills of cytoxan the other day. I had them both prior to my transplant, so my body has prior experience with them (or so I thought), so I didn’t think it was going to be much of a deal. I was a bit tired, so I went to bed a little early that evening.
I got into bed and tried to get comfy. My wife came to bed about an hour later. I was still awake and asked for the thermometer since I was feeling a bit cold. We are going through a heat wave and it was 95 degrees outside, and we don’t have an AC, so it was a little unusual.
98.9 was the reading.
I laid there for a bit longer, pulling up the sheet to my neck. I was starting to shake a bit. I got a fever when I first started carfilzomib and cytoxan months ago, so I guessed I was going through it again since it had been awhile.
99.8 at the next check.
I was really starting to shake, so we added another blanket. Time went by, and I added the comforter. I had all my winter blankets on and it was still quite hot outside. I took a tylenol trying to get my shaking to knock it off, so I could sleep.
102.6 the thermometer read a little while later.
Everyone who has been on chemotherapy knows 101.4 is that magic number when you call the on call nurse and most likely head to the ER. I didn’t want to call, since I had been through this before with these drugs and talked about it with the oncologist last time. I knew they would have dragged me down t the ER to get checked. They (and I as well) are very concerned about infections, but I knew this was just a chemo reaction.
Phase 2 of my reaction was about to begin.
I feel like a lot of people have conversations with themselves when throwing up is involved. Sometimes the buildup lasts for quite a while. “I don’t want to throw up, maybe if I lay this way or that way, I won’t puke.” I didn’t have any buildup or warning.
For a bit of dramatic effect, I’ll narrate the conversation between my body and head.
“Jothi! Get up right now!
“Why?”
“We are going to throw up right now!”
“Really? I don’t really feel nauseous.”
“We are doing this right now! Make a run for it.”
I went to the bathroom and almost immediately threw up. I found it very funny and ironic. I didn’t throw up at all during my transplant or at all during any of my previous times on full strength chemo, and I puked with “maintenance”. Go figure.
I got back into bed and started to shiver again. In hindsight, that probably was not a good omen for my stomach and esophagus. Half an hour later, I asked my wife for a zofran to try and settle things down. Twenty seconds later, my body said:
“Let’s do this again.”
“Are you serious!? We just did that!”
I just got into the bathroom again, and out came the remainder, and it felt like my intestines and liver as well. I got back into bed, with my shakes gone now, and promptly fell asleep for the rest of the night.
My saint of a wife volunteered to dispose of my two rounds of half digested dinner. I only made it to the garbage can both times, so it was very kind of her.
When I woke up in the morning, I didn’t have any fever or vomiting. I spent the day replenishing my fluids.
It’s only been about 4 months since I was on carfilzomib and cytoxan, but I forgot all my do’s and don’ts for those drugs. Maybe I should write a post on it, so I can read it.
But jeez, my torso was sore! I haven’t thrown up at all, probably in nine years. I guess you must have special puking muscles, and mine weren’t at all developed. I wonder if they have a work-out for that?
“For the low low price of $19.99, you can get our puking muscle training program. Strengthen your back muscles, side muscles and abdomen. We guarantee you can puke 5 times in a row without getting sore, or your money back!”
Carrots Over Cancer 