Recovery and NIH Thoughts: My energy level isn't remotely back to normal, but I have made a lot of progress since I returned home. I still tire easily, but, say, an activity such as taking a shower isn't the big event of the day anymore.

I was given absolutely no warning about how tough the chemotherapy/infusion process would be beforehand. I've mentioned to a few people after the fact that the week of chemo before the infusion was like having my previous six-month experiences of chemo squeezed into one week of awfulness; somewhat of an exaggeration, but I experienced a few absolutely "dreadful" (the word one of the nurses used) days during that part of the treatment.

Aside from the near-complete energy drain, I ended up losing all my hair again (you could probably tell from the picture I posted last time) in less than two days. My immune system went and took my hair with it. I also lost about ten percent of my body mass.

The lymphocytes in all their glory

A week after the chemo, I was given the 36.6 billion cells plus the Interleukin2 (IL2), the drug used with much success on melanoma patients over the last decade. The nurse had to rock and squeeze the bag during the half-hour long process to help prevent the lymphocytes from sticking to the inside of the bag. I joked with her about whether chanting would help, and she said that people pray, sing, chant, cry and do just about everything imaginable when they get this type of infusion. It was a bit of an emotional experience, I admit.

I ended up in the ICU for a few days not too long after this. IL2 has a lot of side effects, and I think I got just about every one: rashes, shortness of breath, uncontrollable shaking, mental confusion, etc. The docs would regularly check me for the latter by asking me simple questions like my name, birthday etc. I know I responded once that I was born in 2014; I'm fairly certain that I ended up in the ICU shortly after that.

Barb and I were guessing that my operation over the summer would probably run into the six figures if it were done privately;  I casually mentioned this to one of the nurses during my stay, and she responded, no, likely not quite that much. "The research, chemo, and cell infusion...oh, this current visit is easily running into the six figures." Call me one expensive Guinea pig.