Thursday, May 14, 2009
I had my CT scan. That went okay, until the contrast hit and I ended up throwing up inside the machine. Not so fun. Had my Gallium scan. That was uneventful. All glory to Steve Jobs and the wonder of the iPhone. Music sure does make a 2.5 hour scan go by rather quickly. Then came chemo #12. My port stared fucking up -- couldn't draw blood out of it before the chemo, but at least they could push, and I got the fucking poison, no problem.
Now I get to wait about a week to find out whether I require additional chemotherapy. I really hope I'm done.
But, then again, I have a rather horrid suspicion that I'm not done yet. My doctor wants to make the "right decision" which, I realize is the one that's most likely to keep me alive, but it's also the one that makes me the most miserable.
I've become a bit frustrated with the gym thing. It's not my goal to become some muscle-bound idiot -- it's not a particularly appealing look, I don't think, and I don't much have the frame to support it. That being said, muscle gain has been rather lacking. Then I did some reading. Chemo patients, listen up, this is in your best interest!
The average person requires 0.8 grams of protein per kilogram of healthy weight per day in order to prevent muscle wasting. A chemo patient requires a full 1.5 grams of protein per kilogram of healthy weight per day! That's almost double!
Given my weight, I discovered that I would need to consume roughly half a kilogram of lean pork per day, to prevent muscle wasting. No wonder I'm barely building any muscle.
Also, whey protein is a precursor to... Some compound, I forget... Which allegedly helps prevent some cancers. Drink up me hearties, yo ho.
Also, in living with Melissa, I've inherited a cat. A rather stupid cat. But I love him so.