Sally Redeemed

The eve of yet another chemo treatment has arrived. Number six is tomorrow and at this point I am ready for almost anything that happens in that cancer center. Two weeks ago, for number five, my nurse was the infamous Sally the Drug Pusher. I thought we were in for yet another doozie of a day when she drew my blood. After the nurse draws my blood, the usual routine is to discretely tuck the tubing coming from my port into my bra. Most of the nurses are quite tactful with the process. Sally, however, saved herself a couple of steps and left the syringe attached to the tubing and just shoved the whole kit and caboodle down my shirt. "Uhhh....aren't you going to take that syringe off the tubing?" I asked as I looked down at the excessive medical supplies in my shirt. Giving her the benefit of the doubt, I figured she just forgot to remove it. As she answered no, she continued turning my bra into a supply closet by taping the syringe to my chest. Apparently she thought my concern was with the syringe falling out of my shirt. But really, Sally, I am just disconcerted with the fact that you feel you can just stuff whatever supply you may need later down my shirt.

Oh well. I figured it was what it was and I took the blood samples to the lab. I met with my actual doctor rather than his nurse practitioner (no pooping demos this time, darn). He scheduled a PET scan for September 1st to check my progress. I am anxiously thinking good cancer fighting thoughts in hopes that the chemo has made a decent impact on the cancer.

After speaking with the doctor, it was back to Sally for chemo. Once the pre-treatment drugs were completed, I hesitantly asked Sally for ice, giving her my biggest, most charming smile. While she didn't exactly seem happy with my request, she at least didn't act like finding ice was the most strenuous chore. As she pushed the first three drugs, we chatted about various things like the book that I was trying to read, the restaurants participating in a deal called Devour Downtown, and she even told me some funny stories about her nieces and nephews. Overall, she was pleasant to have around. We found a mutual respect for each other. She respected my desire for ice and I respected her quirky ways of going about things. She still gave me more drugs than the other nurses, but not quite as many as the first time. And this time I actually wanted the Emend rather than trying to ward off her adamant drug sales pitch.

On Friday when I went back for my shot (to boost my white blood cells), Sally was the available nurse once again. She took my vitals and asked how the rest of the afternoon went after the chemo. I let her know that I was pretty miserable, that I felt gross for most of afternoon and evening. Sympathy I was expecting, accountability I got. "Do you think it might have had something to do with the donut, cookie, and chicken nuggets you ate during treatment?" she asked. Sheepishly, I looked down and owned up to my mistake. Normally I don't eat during chemo to ensure I don't feel gross, but for some reason I felt invincible and indulged my cravings for sweets and grease and sent Shane to McDonald's.

I like that Sally called me out. I like that Sally does things her own way. You know, I think I even like Sally.

Don't Forget the Emend!

Preparing for my fifth round of chemo tomorrow, I am feeling strong! The night before chemo always brings a bag of mixed emotions because by the time it is ready for another round, I am feeling so good - 100% recovered from the previous treatment and I know that in less than 24 hours I will be knocked down by another wave of drugs. But I know the drugs, while they may feel like they only make me weaker, are actually making me better.

And now I know to carefully watch the nurse's pre-treatment regimen.

After my third chemo treatment, I was unusually tired. I slept all afternoon, evening, and night. It took a full seven days for me to feel "normal" and during those seven days I felt completely wiped of energy. I simply figured that the chemo was catching up to my body and that was what my recovery was going to resemble from here on out. However, after my fourth treatment, I realized that the nurse from round three forgot a very important pre-treatment drug, Emend. Emend is a powerful anti-nausea medicine (the one that Sally the Drug Pusher so adamantly insisted I take). I sheepishly admit that Sally was right, the Emend is a miracle drug. It does make it a little bit difficult for me to sleep, but thus far I have been successful at finding things to keep me occupied at 2:00 am. The nurse for my fourth treatment remembered this wonder drug and my recovery was vastly different. My energy level was that of a normal human (only slightly lower than the usual crazy-Lori energy level). And I felt 100% after about five days.

My family visited this past weekend and we had a great time discovering Indianapolis. Saturday was a very active day starting with a family run/workout followed by a bike ride and ending with rock climbing. After rock climbing and discovering my new respect for it as a sport (especially one that is meant for long-limbed people), I mentally recapped the day. I basically had three workouts and felt great! It was so encouraging to be participating in normal life, I practically forgot that I am fighting this battle called cancer. But after mastering (I use that term very loosely) a sport for which my limbs are approximately 12" too short, cancer ain't got nothin' on me!

Our six person family bike ride that almost ended very poorly when I was allowed behind the wheel and steered the right side of the bike into a brick wall.

How to Poop*

*Reader discretion is advised
Warning: Personal information and graphic description beyond this point, continue at your own risk.

One of the many side effects the doctor warned me about before we started this whole "let's pump lots of drugs into you" process was constipation. But he mentioned this specific side effect in a nonchalant way as if we would simply cross that bridge if and when we got to it. Well, Doc, we have arrived at the bridge.

A few days after my third treatment, the morning my bowels finally decided to move again, I experienced a bloody stool. Slightly alarmed, I began to run through the list of "you should call your doctor if..." Sure enough, this made the list. So before I left for work, I called in and talked to one of my least favorite receptionists at the cancer center. I had to describe my poop and attempt to answer all sorts of questions regarding its shape, size, and color. The receptionist assured me that she would pass the information on to the nurses and someone would call me back. Great, just what I want - a description of my poop floating around the office while the nurses draw straws to determine who has to call me back.

Since I didn't receive a call back before I went to work, I kept my phone in my pocket thinking this is a semi-serious matter and I should answer the call when I get it. Well, as the hours passed and I still had not received the promised phone call, I assumed this whole bloody stool thing must not be that important. My assumptions were confirmed when I picked up a message at 1:00 (four hours after my original call) from the nurse practitioner that literally said, "Um, Hi Lori. I got your message. If you have any questions you can call me back and if it happens again please call. Hope you are feeling better." You're kidding!? That is the advice I get? You hope I feel better?

Since I didn't have questions and didn't feel like talking to that unhelpful nurse again, I decided to just wait until my Thursday appointment with the doctor to further discuss the issue. However, it was just my luck that when I arrived that day the doctor was too busy so my appointment was with that same nurse. When she asked if I'd had any problems this time (she must have forgotten my phone call), I reminded her of the bloody stool issue. That.was.a.bad.idea. Because in an accent I couldn't understand, she began to describe to me the innermost details of how to poop. She first gave the nutrition spiel about getting enough fiber - making sure I'm eating an adequate diet of whole grains and fruit, yadda yadda yadda. Lady, I work in the health and fitness industry. You don't have to remind me that fiber is my second best friend. Her next instructions involved a ten minute toilet limit. She even so kindly demonstrated how to bring your knees to your chest to make the whole process smoother. Then as she proceeded to the hand demonstration of how the rectum works, things began to get a little awkward. As she crudely gestured, I wasn't sure whether to find this absolutely hilarious or completely disgusting. Then I remembered that I have actually dissected a cadaver, rectum and all, so I could handle her hand demos. After she finished her show and tell of the pooping process, I made my way to treatment room for my fourth chemo treatment. Four out of eight done - halfway there with a fresh insight on bowel movements.