Cancer Treatment Update #1
Port install, first round of chemo, getting tossed from a concert venue
Hey there. This is a cancer update. If you’re new here, you can catch up on the backstory HERE. If you’d like to opt out of cancer updates and still receive my regular Wednesday newsletters, you can go into your Substack settings and turn off emails for the Schrödinger’s Polyp news. Here’s what the notifications section looks like:
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Bryan got a port installed.
It’s a little like the Matrix - a “plug” installed under his skin that hooks up to the chemo drip without having to put in an IV every time he comes in for treatment or a blood draw.
One of the standard questions Bryan gets asked every time we’re at a medical appointment is, “Do you feel safe at home?” During this visit, two caregivers were in the room examining Bryan prior to the procedure, and they had his hospital gown open to look at the area where his port would go (near the right collar bone). The open gown also revealed his belly, which had about 6-10 bruises across it.
“Those are from the blood thinner injections I’ve been giving him,” I said.
“It’s actually where she hits me,” he deadpanned.
I was not drinking coffee at the time, but if I had been it would have spewed from my mouth.
“BRYAN!” I yelled, suspiciously loud, like a guilty abuser. “You can’t joke around about that! These people are mandatory reporters!”
Fortunately, everyone laughed and I didn’t get a visit from a social worker.
However, safety at home was clearly on my mind. During that same visit, I asked the nurse why all these trays say Mr. Unsafe. She laughed and said they are MRI unsafe, but now she’ll never not hear Mr. Unsafe. 😂
Chemo: Round #1
For his first appointment, we were at Fred Hutch all day — from 9am to past 5pm. This was mostly because they scheduled a bunch of appointments before chemo started, then the first infusion was a 3 1/2 hour drip. Subsequent appointments will only be a half day, I think.
Here’s a video from our drive to Fred Hutch that morning:
Prior to each infusion, they’ll take a blood sample and have it tested for levels of various things, including for the specific gene marker of his cancer cells, which they identified after removing the tumor and surrounding lymph nodes. Once the blood test results are in, someone from the oncology team will come in to interpret the results, check in on symptoms and how he’s feeling, and give us the green light (or not) for starting the next round of treatment.
After a long-ass infusion of the first few drugs (including a 3-day anti-nausea drug), he gets hooked up to an infusion pump he takes home with him for a 46 hour infusion of another drug. It looks like this:
Then he gets a break for a week and a half before starting the next round. Repeat for six rounds through the end of July, and possibly another three months, according to the oncologist.
So far he’s reporting minimal side effects, and mostly just says, “I feel weird.” We’ve heard from the doctors and from friends going through chemo that side effects increase as treatment goes on, so I’m holding my breath.
Bryan got tossed from a club for falling asleep.
The day after Bryan’s outpatient port install procedure we went to a show at our favorite indoor venue, The Showbox, and saw the band JOSEPH. We’d had the tickets for months, I think even before Bryan’s cancer diagnosis, and we had paid extra to reserve a table — otherwise it’s standing room only, which is too hard on our back/knees. Because of the reserved table situation, we decided to go despite his being tired and still recovering from sedation and minor surgery.
Toward the end of the show, I felt a tap on my shoulder and turned to see Bryan being escorted away by two security personnel. I shrugged at our friends and followed them out through the venue to the street. Immediately, passion was at a loud decibel as words were exchanged, and I could tell Bryan’s emotions were close to the surface.
Security was clearly not going to let us back in.
“Can somebody please explain to me what’s going on?” I yelled, interrupting two very tall people. “Why are we out here?!”
I was told Bryan had fallen asleep, and that he’d been asked to sit up and stay awake, but he fell asleep again, so they escorted him outside.
Bryan was so tired he didn’t remember the first warning, and I was unaware of all of it, since he was sitting slightly behind me at the round table, and I was wearing ear plugs.
“Why does it matter that he falls asleep?” I asked. “He’s 53, it’s past our bedtime, and he just had surgery yesterday. He’s TIRED.”
They explained the liquor board will shut them down if it appears the venue is over-serving alcohol to people, which totally makes sense. This was something I could work with, so we pulled the Cancer Card.
I said, look, my husband has cancer and he just had minor surgery yesterday (Bryan flashed his Matrix-port). He’s tired. This is our favorite venue and one of our favorite bands. I know you guys are just doing your job, but we’re trying to have a good night in the midst of many shitty things going on.
Thankfully, they acquiesced to our shitty situation and let us back in on the condition that Bryan stand up in the back for the remainder of the show. Which was not an issue, because by the time we went back in, they were already into the encore.
It was a tense and emotional moment — a reminder that Things Are Not Normal — but once the show ended and we updated our friends, the story became a funnier “you can’t make this shit up” version. On the way home we debated who was the hero of the story (clearly, it was me) - which is on brand for how two nerdy storytellers argue about plot.
I can tell already this will fall into the legendary canon of ZugStories like his “I did sound for Ronald Reagan” story and the “my dad was a fur bearing trapper in the ‘70s” story.
Mad love to the Showbox security team, who didn’t escalate even when emotions were high. Very grateful we didn’t get a lifetime ban from the venue!
One Last Thing…
Many of you have texted Bryan and commented on his social media posts. Thank you — he feels the love. However, responding to each message can feel overwhelming at times, so we appreciate your understanding if he’s slow to reply or maybe doesn’t reply at all. It doesn’t mean he didn’t get it or doesn’t appreciate it.
Feel free to reach out to me if you’d like to get a personal message to him or ask a question, and I’ll do my best to respond. We’ll also keep posting general updates here about what’s going on and how he’s feeling, so be sure to subscribe.