I’ve got a lot of cancer things to talk about in today’s episode, including getting the Evusheld Covid-19 preventative, scheduling #AllTheVaccines, scheduling my next MRI, and a pleasant prednisone surprise.
If you’re following along at home, you might remember that I rescheduled last week’s oncology appointment to yesterday afternoon. I thought it was going to be boring and routine, like a meeting that should have been an email. But, clearly, my doctor and I discussed a lot of stuff.
First up: Evusheld. It’s another preventative for Covid-19 that’s available for the immunocompromised. My doc said I qualified for it and recommended it. So I got Evusheld this morning at the cancer center.
My appointment was scheduled for 7:00, but I didn’t get to leave until about 9:00. The stuff has to thaw, and then you have to hang around for an hour for observation in case you have an allergic/adverse reaction.
There are reasons I set early appointments. Empty waiting rooms are one.
I picked out a shirt specifically for getting the two shots in my arms only to be told they were administered in the ass and be asked if it was OK if a new nurse watched.
The more the merrier. When you have cancer, I think you inevitably learn to leave your inhibitions at home. Next to the box of vomit bags probably. I don’t know.
So I came home with two Tweety Bird Band-Aids—one on each cheek. Cute.
As for side effects. I’m really tired now, but I don’t know if it’s the Evusheld, two days in a row getting dressed and leaving the house, or being up this morning at the butt crack of dawn. Maybe all of the above?
Next, my doctor and I discussed vaccines. I need my second Covid booster and my second shingles and pneumonia vaccines. (Apparently I *just* missed getting the new single-dose pneumonia vaccine. Curses!)
It’s a lot of shots, and getting them requires finely orchestrated scheduling. There are requirements for spreading them out, but also? Insurance. God, I hate insurance.
The shingles vax isn’t covered because I’m too young, and the first one cost me $200 out of pocket because I’m not 50 yet. I expect the next to be at least that much. Literal and figurative gouging. If gas prices concern you, congratulations I guess.
It’s worth $400, though, because I had shingles a few months ago (thanks, cancer!) and I hope I never have them ever, ever again.
I’d rather have another brain surgery. No lie.
Anyway, that left the perfunctory chemo questions and the MRI questionnaire that takes FOREVER. There was a new nurse observing that too, and when I responded no to whether I was claustrophobic, she looked at me, shocked, and said, “YOU’RE NOT?!”
This’ll be number 22 or 23. I’m over it, folks. Besides the new hospital machines are like Cadillacs compared to the tiny, dark mobile unit I was shoved into for MRI #1. I had to sing Jesus Loves the Little Children to myself to get through that first one without crying.
Brain MRI pro-tip: always ask for the washcloth over your eyes.
That MRI is scheduled for the last part of July. There will be some scanxiety but it has nothing to do with the process and everything to do with wondering about the results.
Lastly, surprise! I officially didn’t gain any weight* while on prednisone. My last three appointments only varied by like a pound. I’m still fat but not fatter, and my dexamethasone clothes from 2017 still fit like a giant garbage bag. (Thanks, chemo?)
That’s all for now. I need a nap.
*I don’t care how much I weigh. I just can’t afford new clothes right now. Did I mention Shingrix is like $200 a pop?