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.