That one time a blood clot saved my life.

I understand that I still have to catch some of you up on where we are at in this journey but I also want to make sure I am providing the most recent updates so I don’t fall too far behind.

One of the milestones we have been looking forward to is getting a “portacath”

inserted into my chest for ease of drug administration and a sustainable quality of life. I have been the envy of the chemo bank every time I have gone in as I have heard many patients are on the waitlist for one of these coveted ports. The alternative is a PICC line which is inserted through your arm and goes into your heart. I had one of

these put in for my first treatment and although I have very much appreciated the sponge baths Cari has been giving me, not being able to get it wet makes showering very difficult. My regular exercise has also had to be put on hold because sweating is not permitted. It’s no wonder people are excited to get these portacaths!

My surgery was scheduled for Wednesday, March 11 at 6:00am and I was very much looking forward to getting the procedure over and done with. The doctor recommended taking a few days to recover as the drugs can be quite strong and apparently having your chest cut into can provide some discomfort. I had already booked a TOC to cover me at work to allow time for this procedure so I was in the clear. But you know how God has a plan and you just need to follow it sometimes?

The evening of Monday, March 9, Cariann was at work and I was home all alone celebrating the overdue submission of my report cards. Karen Taylor and her family had dropped off some incredibly tender, fall-off-the-bone back ribs for us the night before and since we couldn’t finish them all, I had some leftovers to put into the oven. It was also day one of our fantasy hockey playoffs (reserve judgement, please) so I was geeking out to some Panthers vs. Blues and analyzing hockey stats. I must have cellied a little too hard when the Panther’s goalie got my team the win because as I reached down to take the succulent ribs out of the oven, my chest and neck turned on me. Unendurable pain pierced through my shoulder and into my chest. I knew it wasn’t a heart attack because… well… I just know things sometimes so I called the after hours cancer line and spoke with the doctor. She agreed that my PICC line must have come out of place somehow and I could go to emerg right away or wait to speak with nurse in Kamloops the next day. I left the nurse a message, and I managed to position myself so the pain was bearable for the night.

The next morning, I was so excited because I had visitors coming! My little brother, Landon, and his bestie Cody, brought coffee, breakfast sandos, a bunch of video games, and some positive attitudes. It was going to be a GREAT day! After catching up for about 20 minutes or so, the hospital called and wanted me to come in to have my PICC line looked at. The boys were awesome and opted to tag along for the ride. Well, a quick little examination of the medical equipment turned into 6 hours of ECGs, CTs, the removal of my PICC line, a delicious capicola sando, and an ultrasound. (Landon and Cody’s faces were priceless watching the line come out from under my armpit. Worth every minute of being there!)

Dr. Proctor, my incredible oncologist waited after hours to discuss my ultrasound results. He explained that they identified a small blood clot in the basilic vein near the site of entry of the PICC. He confirmed that this was a relatively normal response to the removal of the PICC and that the clot was so small that even if it traveled to my lungs, it wouldn’t cause any issues. He confirmed that my surgery the next morning would still be happening.

5:15am came very quickly; especially for Cari who had not returned home from work until around 1:30am. With forced energy and genuine excitement, we began our travels to the hospital. Despite being the first booking that day, the place was already hoppin’. We didn’t wait long before the nurse escorted us to my bed. I put on a sexy blue gown, and my good behaviour was rewarded with an IV needle in the hand. And we waited. The anesthesiologist (I spelled that on my first try without looking it up, just sayin’) reviewed the surgery with me and told us we were almost ready to go. And we waited some more. Then a nurse came to my bed, looked at me, looked back at another nurse and exclaimed, “He’s not sick. He’s right here and he looks just fine!” She relayed to me that the OR had been notified of my surgery being cancelled due to my illness. What?! She assured me that it was an oversight or a misunderstanding; I would be heading down soon. So we waited. And we waited some more. Out of the blue, Dr. Proctor (how perfect is that name!?) showed up beside my bed, having made his way down from the cancer ward just to speak with me in person. He had been up late thinking about my case and made a call early that morning to the surgeon requesting that we don’t go through with the portacath insertion. Apparently, having cancer increases one’s risk for blood clots. Furthermore, the portacath itself comes with its own risk for blood clots. Since I had already presented albeit a small blood clot, his concern was that the risk was too high. He explained that there is an alternative form of chemo with the same efficacy as the IV that can be taken orally. Since this alternative was an option, he believed this was a much safer route to take.

I wish the story ended there, as I felt very comforted by Dr. Proctor’s level of care and the fact that I wouldn’t have to carry a bottle of chemo around with me any longer. Furthermore, I was very excited to go home and have day off without being drugged out of my mind! But the nurse protocol ended up keeping us there, needle in hand, sexy gown on. And we waited. And we waited some more. And we fell asleep for a bit. And then we waited some more. We waited for another three hours until the surgeon could come relay the exact same information that Dr. Proctor had already disclosed. Poor Cariann, on four hours of sleep, endured the entire morning with me. God bless the nurses for being so committed to those protocols, but that wait tested our patience to the brink of losing every bit of composure we have ever had in our entire lives.

In the end, we left the hospital, sans portacath, with a new treatment plan that has me hooked up to IV every three weeks now (instead of two) and with a new pill to take home afterwards. The downside is that it will increase my susceptibility to diarrhea and the likelihood of presenting Palmar-Plantar Erythrodysesthesia (hand-foot syndrome).

https://www.cancer.net/coping-with-cancer/physical-emotional-and-social-effects-cancer/managing-physical-side-effects/hand-foot-syndrome-or-palmar-plantar-erythrodysesthesia

The upside is that I can resume physical activity and I don’t have to be cut into for a little while longer. I am getting the sense that Dr. Proctor has been very carefully selected to take me through this journey. Seriously. I cannot believe how blessed I am.

This blog post would be incomplete if I didn’t post Bloodclot by Rancid Don’t worry, dad. It’s censored.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qFNfMwdHez0

Just a friendly reminder that cancer of the rectum can’t wreck Tim. #CantRecTim