Drugs

It's Day 9 following the start of chemo and I'm feeling 100% in daily routine, though I can only work out at about 75%. I am very thankful for this well-being. And if this whole treatment cycle turns out to be one crappy week and 2 normal weeks, I'd have a hard time imagining a better chemotherapy experience.

But I was pretty weepy in the days leading up to Day 1 of chemo, so I knew there was something I didn't like about it. But it didn't make sense not to like it. This is the treatment God is using to cure me. I should be pretty happy about it, no?

So here's the problem: On some very deep, very basic level, it was important to me that I was a healthy person.

Almost like a health-vanity.

It offended me to picture myself letting drugs drip into me, and then going home to eat pill after pill after pill. I am a healthy person! These drugs can't be for someone like me!

Then there was a turning point, when I began to shed that vanity and embrace a new philosophy which was, briefly, "You got drugs? Great! Because I take drugs!"

The turning point was during my appointment with Dr. Maurice Markus.

I went into that appointment expecting a lot from him. Up until then, I had liked him. Had confidence in him. Had confidence that he is the doctor God wants to have treat me. Had not noticed one single false note or poor moment in him. He was kind, honest, fair and uber-competent. What more could a patient want?

I wanted him to like me.

Not that I'd felt he disliked me. But I wanted to know that Maurice Markus as not just thinking, "Here is a cancer patient. I cure cancer patients. I will try to cure this one," but also, "I like her so much and think she's so wonderful that it's obvious the world would be a lesser place if Amy left it, so I will do my best to make sure that doesn't happen as result of breast cancer."

Bryan said this was unfair of me. "What if I were your doctor?" he reasoned, meaning someone as quiet and reserved as he is.

I laughed. Bryan! As an oncologist! Thanks, Babe, I needed a good grin. . .

So I went into that appointment with a mission and a Diana Ross song in my heart.

But I didn't even have to do anything! He walked into the room with a smile and a warm hand-shake and seemed glad to see me! Then I said, "I do have a question for you that's completely irrelevant and I hope you don't find it impertinent: Your name."

"My last name?"

"No, your first name. I'm kind of obsessed with it. Is Maurice a family name? One your mother always liked?..."

It was his grandfather's name, "Maurishevua" (surely I spelled it wrong) and his family was "on the run across Europe when his mother was born in Paris."

I interjected, "From out of Russia?"

No, Eastern Poland.

And then, for some reason, for some reason!, the story didn't get finished! That's the last he said--that his mother was born in Paris--but why this means he should be named after his grandfather? Huh!

Here's my promise to you: I shall extract the rest of the story.

Then he said, "I've been thinking of you since the last appointment every time I'm in the car with the radio on. I've been trying to think of songs with men's names in them."

Hotdog!

He's thinking of me outside of office hours.

We got down to business which was, basically, his telling me which medications to take and when. There had been some debate earlier with She Who Shall Not Be Named as I had merely wondered aloud whether I would automatically take the anti-nausea regimen, or whether I'd see if I could do without and play catch-up if necessary. You know. Because I didn't want to take drugs or anything.

Markus, having heard of this discussion, wanted to know what I was planning and I told him, "I think I was having a problem thinking of myself as a sick person who needs a lot of medicine. But I'm over that now and I took my first Edvent this morning."

He nodded and said, "Right, because some of these people don't want to take the drugs and they find themselves sick as dogs and can't keep a pill down so then they're screwed." This look of frustration came over him, a compassionate kind, like he was just pained to see people do things the hard way. "I want to tell them, 'There are no side effects. Just take the damn pill.'"

There's something about a willingness to use a cuss-word-lite in front of me that I take to be very friendly. You and me, Markus, are going to get along just fine.

And something in that comment of his made me suddenly feel OK about taking any and all of the medications I need to. Why not just take the damn pill? Or poison. Or protein. All of it has work to do in this body. And thank God that I have access to all this medicine, and that so far it looks like it affects me about 1out 3 weeks.

My current drug count:
1 pre-chemo anti-nausea drip, don't know its name

T
C, both chemotherapy drugs
H, the protein

Edvent (a triple pill pack I take on Days 1, 2, and 3 for nausea. Costs me $9. Costs insurance $394 per round.)

For. (I forget the name, but that's how I've been abbreviating it in my log.)
Compazine for nausea
Dex. (again, the abbreviation; again, for nausea)

Neulastin (?) (And injection I get after each chemo round to boost by white blood cells)

Extra-strength Tylenol
Clariton (Both of which are to block the bone and joint ache from the injection; plus the for. causes headaches, hence for Tylenol)

And, because the heartburn persisted, Nurse Practitioner Rose (what do I call her?) prescribed Nexium. So I'm even more ready for the next round of chemo!

I'd asked Rose, "Is there something I should be eating to soothe the heartburn? Because I can't drink milk anymore due to chemo-induced lactose intolerance."

She said, "You should really just take a drug for that." Sure! I take drugs all the time!

In fact, as you see, I now take 12 drugs. A whole dozen!

And because of them--Thank You God!--I will live to be a person who takes no drugs.