Note: The names in this story have been changed to protect identities and feelings.
Last Wednesday I went in for my second chemo treatment in hopes that my little white blood cells were up to snuff. After claiming my chair in the chemo room, a new-to-me nurse came over to take my blood. After having it analyzed and cleared by the doctor, I was good to go. Those little neutrophils came through!
I explained to my new nurse, Sally (who is about 4 feet tall, overweight, and has a hair thinning issue), that after the last treatment I got terrible mouth sores. Being proactive with my health care, I told her I would like to try chewing ice for a longer period of time. Ice slows the circulation and supposedly helps prevent/decrease the mouth sores. Sally insisted I only needed to chew ice for the first drug. Okay, fine, you know best, Sally. I quietly accepted her insistence. I also let Sally know about the intense nausea after the last treatment. This time, slightly more receptive to my beggings, Sally informed me there was something else she could add to my pre-treatment regimen.
As she started the pre-treatment drugs, Sally explained to me that with the new drug she was adding I would have to take a steroid for a few days to prolong the effect. She then went into more detail about the effect the steroid would have. With her eyes bugged out of her little troll-like head, she said I would be hyped up and may have trouble sleeping. Whoa, whoa, whoa, Sally. Hold that syringe! I began to protest (mostly for Shane's sake). The last thing I (and my poor husband) need is a push even further over the crazy cliff. Taking charge of my healthcare once again, I denied the new drug telling Sally that I could deal with the nausea over the inability to calm down. Sally, however, was not going to hear it. She practically insisted that I take this drug because according to her, feeling no nausea and extra energy was certainly better than feeling less energy and nauseous. I swear she was getting a cut of the sale. After her continued insistence that I at least try it this time so I can make an open decision next time, I felt pressured to comply.
With the drug push over, it was time to begin the actual chemo. Sally went to the back to fetch the drugs and also to get me some ice. As she returned, she made it a point to sigh and declare, "I want you to know, it wasn't easy for me to get this ice." Thinking she was being funny (because ice is not that hard to manufacture, let alone find), I laughed out loud. Irritated she said, "We usually don't keep ice around here. I had to scrounge for this. So I guess what I'm saying is if you want ice, next time you'll have to bring it yourself." Wow, Sally. Your hospitality and graciousness are overwhelming.
Needing to relieve myself of the troll's presence, I told her I needed to use the restroom before she started pushing the chemo. I watched as she unhooked one of my IV bags and wrongly assumed it was okay to head toward the bathroom. As I began to walk away, Sally started shouting at me. "Hey! Wait, wait, wait!" As I turned around, I caught her glare as she told me I had to take my IV pole with me. Okay, fine. I grabbed the pole and began steering it in what I thought was the direction of the restroom only to be bombarded once again with shouting. As my IV pole slowed from careening to only slightly out of control, I looked up and saw every nurse in the room waving me in the opposite direction. I guess the nurses are used to people who are about 40 years my senior and don't move quite as speedily as I do.
After the restroom fiasco, I finally sat down to begin the treatment. As the final drug began to drip dry, Sally came over with not one, not two, but THREE prescriptions for me to get filled and some Tylenol for me to take, bringing my total drug count up to ten for the day. (Can a liver catch a break?) Along with the prescriptions, Sally also brought over a small tackle box from the fridge containing lots of pairs of earrings. Passing over the fact that she brought these from the refrigerator, Sally explained that a a few years ago there was a lady that wanted women to feel beautiful as they went through chemo. She put her creativity to work and made dozens of beautiful earrings so that each female cancer patient could pick a pair to wear. She named her endeavor "Ears to You." So after the ice search, the restroom tirade, and the extra drugs, Sally redeemed herself by helping me pick out the perfect pair of earrings. 'Ears to you, Sally the drug pusher!
Last Thursday I went for my third chemo treatment. All in all it was pretty uneventful. But as I walked out the door from work, the reality of this new routine hit me. I was just doing what was normal now - leaving work early every other week to go get drugs pumped into my system. But this whole process isn't "normal" and shouldn't have to be normal to anyone. So I took a picture to remind myself that even though each treatment may not be as memorable as the first, each one is getting me one more step towards healthy. 