At 9 AM sharp I walk up to the reception desk. I am called in for for my draw quickly. Nurse says that with the holiday, they are pretty busy. Draw complete and port installed, she sends me back to the waiting room. I steal a couple of ancient gearhead magazines for Chemo. They're two years old, so I don't even it's technically stealing, but if you think so, feel free to call the authorities. Anyway, it's an old trick, I'm getting pretty good at it.
Cancer, and a thief, too. How far I've fallen.
I tell my nurse I have NHL. Turns out her father has it also. I offer my 'blog address in case he might want to compare notes. We have a nice chat.
Dr. R. arrives, cheery as always. Last week I discovered a strange spot on my back. The history of this is that a few months ago I noticed a bloody scab (sorry to be so graphic) on my back and thought I had just scratched it... then I forgot about it. After that I was diagnosed... and I forgot all about that spot. Last week I was scratching my back and discovered this strange skin texture, next day it was a scab... I believe it's the same spot.
Upshot is he told me to call dermatology and have them take a look. He does NOT seem to be very concerned. I will call.
WHAT THE HELL ELSE will I be diagnosed with? Not to complain, but my body is wearing my ass out right now. Enough with the afflictions, already. I just want to treat my Lymphoma and be done. I don't want anything else that ends in -OMA, can I get a freakin' AMEN, brothers and sisters? Thank you! The collection plate is coming your way, please give generously.
OK, I'll stop complaining, at least until I see how this plays out. And I had just mentioned how lucky I was to be gaining weight.
Dr. R. asked how I was doing. I told him that other than a couple of recent headaches (a near-migraine Monday morning) that I was doing pretty well. Don't like prednisone but I can tolerate it.
He asks about numbness... OK, that's what I was NOT going to mention because I had some numbness in my feet a couple years ago and they couldn't figure it out. They thought it was a pinched nerve. A back Xray came out OK and we never looked past that because it went away shortly afterwards. But the last few days my left foot has had numbness / tingling. So now that he's asked, I tell him that. He says if it gets worse to let him know. I tell him I will. Asks about the sedative and I am careful to mention that I ONLY take it when I'm on the 'roids (and that's the truth, to quote Edith Ann).
He starts doing the administrative stuff on his computer, then pauses and turns to me and says, "OK, my friend, go and get your treatment". He stands up and shakes my hand with both of his, smiles, and sees me out the door.
I get such a great vibe from this guy. He always seems concerned and sincere and has a great smile that seems genuine. I guess the things that would have escaped me at 22 now really touch me at 52. Maybe because I saw my life pass before my eyes when I was first diagnosed? Maybe because I've buried a parent, an in law, siblings? Or because I have been blessed to have some terrific people that have helped my special needs kids?
Or maybe because I've simply become a soft old man?
Many of the things I just mentioned are not unique to me, they have happened to or likely WILL HAPPEN to anyone that lives long enough. It's just so nice to have such "dear hearts and gentle people" on my side and looking out for me. At 22 I never would have noticed, but at 52 I am acutely aware.
I guess what I'm trying to say is that I really appreciate this Dr.'s help and the special gift he has for helping people. I know it's his job, but not everyone I've encountered in this journey has had this gift (although many truly have). He has helped make a traumatic event very tolerable. I wish good things for him and his family.
While I can't know for certain this Dr.'s religion (or even if he has one), I believe he is probably Muslim. And that brings me to another point, something I read about in the news today: why (in the name of God) would you have a party to burn Qurans? I'm not saying all Muslims are like my Dr. And I'm not saying my Dr. is like all Muslims. What I AM saying is it's pretty Stupid to burn Qurans, that's all. Just as Stupid as it would be to burn Bibles or Talmuds or whatever.
To condemn an entire religion for the actions of a few doesn't make that religion look bad, it makes those burning the books look Stupid. But obviously, some people are So Stupid that can't even see that they're Stupid. There's no hope for them, they're just Stupid. And if they've entered the gene pool, we need more chlorine.
Did Lennon have the right idea? "Imagine there's no countries*It isn't hard to do*Nothing to kill or die for*And no religion, too*Imagine all the people*Living life in peace*
Dreamers? I don't think there are any dreamers left.
Here's an idea for all the religious zealots out there, no matter what God you worship: Drop your religion. You are mentally unequipped to interpret the message. How many people have been killed by other misguided morons in the name of your God? Adopt a new philosophy. All you have to remember is this: Treat others like you would like to be treated. Live by that rule and the world will be a better place, I promise. Don't pray, don't chant, don't wait for Divine Intervention, you sorry dumbasses. Just leave other people alone.
I guess a reply from the Amen chorus might seem inappropriate here.
Sorry, I got off on a rant there. I'm back now, and I feel better. But trust me, there is NO HOPE!
Chemo: Nurse Becky (WSox fan, excellent!) did a nice job taking care of me. First she gave me my levels: wbc 4.3, rbc 4.71, hemo 13.9, platelets 163, gran abs 2.7. Charts will follow soon. Everything is in range except the WBC which is barely below (it should be 4.4 to 10.4). Although wbc was low, it wasn't low enough to stop Chemo.
The Administration of Poison went smoothly, swimmingly, even snoozily (I slept a LOT). My friend Ben E.Dryl kicked my sorry ass. I rolled over sideways in the recliner and slept like a baby, in the fetal position. I had it all going except for sucking my thumb. And for good measure, after I woke up I ate everything in my chemo-bag: Two Quaker Oats Bars Of Some Sort, and an entire bag of my patented Cinna-Corn (microwave popcorn tossed with cinnamon and nutra sweet, it will take the top of your head off). Washed it down with Diet Coke.
Next time I'll pack a more wholesome lunch. Promise.
The trusty Chemo Bag:
I got done about 2:35 and headed... to the junk yard for a tail light for my Cherokee as the original had been busted in an unfortunate but very minor accident in my driveway. And since I had to drive past work to get to the scrap heap, I reported to my desk for about an hour and a half, thereby setting a personal best for working THE DAY OF Chemo. I'm so proud I could just get all puffy!
I'M HALFWAY DONE WITH THE FIRST ROUND!
On the ride home I jumped back on the Steroid Express. Then I came home and installed my tail light and had some dinner. I'm feeling a little disconnected, as usual. And a little wired. Now when I'm caught up on the 'blog, I'll drop some lorazepam and hit the hay. And no doubt I'll dream, of hiccups, of swollen ankles and swollen cheeks. You caught me, now YOU MAY SAY I'M A DREAMER!
**
A couple weeks ago I was waiting to get my levels checked when a lady walked out from the care area. I don't even know how to begin to describe her. She was probably 50-ish and absolutely had the look of death to her. There was a color, or lack of color to her that was striking. Her being and her clothes gave off the same signal: inanimate, vacant, lifeless.
Our eyes met and I am sure that mine betrayed me and flashed pity. I did my best to give a weak smile and I quickly looked away. To stare or to even look again would have robbed her of whatever dignity she had left at that point.
I was so disappointed in myself. I felt like I had a look into her soul and saw that her light was fading. And that when she looked at me, she knew exactly what I was thinking. It was the last thing I'd want to communicate to this fellow patient.
But this was an unconscious, involuntary reflex, honestly. And there was no way I could stop it.
She presented as miserable, spent, and defeated, but was doing her best to put a good face on it. I hope she was just bottoming out on her treatments and would soon be on the way back, but obviously I have no way of knowing.
My conscious reaction was that this person was losing her battle. But what really struck me more than anything was that she was ALONE. I tried to imagine what she was going through and what she was thinking, and more than anything, WHERE WERE HER PEOPLE? I thought about 'blogging it, but quite honestly it was so unsettling that I couldn't bring myself to do it. I wish I had so that I could have done the encounter justice. I feel something's been lost in my description because I waited so long to put thoughts into words.
Today in the waiting room there was an elderly woman, I would estimate her at 80 or so. She had an oxygen container and the cannula in her nose. She was sound asleep, mostly, and all alone. She had the funniest little snore going. I can't explain it but it sounded more like a machine than a human. Maybe it was the breathing apparatus making the noise, I don't know for sure. She did not look good. I made it a point not to make eye contact this time. Out of respect, no one did.
I see all these different people in the waiting room, in the chemo room, in the parking lot. All God's children. And I wonder what their stories are. Some look upbeat, like they've just hit a little bump in the road. And some look like these 2 ladies I'm talking about here, like they are nearing the end of their journey on this planet.
What is the 80-ish lady on oxygen doing here? Is she extending her life by 6 months?
Is she extending it by 10 years? If / when she's cured, will she be able to get off the oxygen? How did she get here when she can't even stay awake in the waiting room?
WHERE ARE HER PEOPLE? How sad that she faces this alone. Does she have sons/daughters/grandchildren? Well, where in the hell are they? Does she go to church? Couldn't someone from church help her out? Can't someone that she knows come to her aid? Has she hidden her cancer from everyone, for fear of burdening them?
The poor soul.
Julie and I have two special needs children. They would never be able to help us out in a similar situation. If we get sick in our old age, will our fate be to die miserable, terrified, and alone? I don't think so. But these people probably didn't think so, either.
Speaking only for myself, I think I would fix miserable. I think I could fix terrified.
Alone would be tough.
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