(Written while there this morning, but posted after getting home.)
I’m not here for chemo, of course. Just an early morning zap, and then a visit with Dr. Science, and then my Herceptin.
About the zap: Today was the last day for treatment to the larger area. I did 28 of these, consisting of 3 zaps each, resulting in a rectangle-shaped 2nd-3rd degree burn on my chest wall, with a few trailing burns over my shoulder. The other result, I say with great hope, is that any remaining cancer cells hovering near the tumor were burned crispy.
My last 5 treatments will be an electron treatment focused closely along my scar. “So far it’s been photons,” Dr. Tanner said.
I’m glad someone bothered to study physics.
They’ve rearranged the chemo barn since last I stopped by. They took apart those rows of 3 chairs and turned the whole room into pairs only, each chair tilted towards its partner. I’m not going to call it cozy, but it is much improved.
Other improvements: the pharmacist. He is a tall guy, 30-something, and he works in the room behind the nurses’ desk, preparing our various bags of drugs. Before, he had a hairy neck, scruffy face, and he wore sweatpants and t-shirts. After, he is clean-shaven—even the neck!—and he’s wearing a crisp set of scrubs.
Before and after what?
Before and after I commented to one of the nurses about “that guy” seeming a little creepy, and why didn’t he have to follow the same dress code as everyone else who works here?
It wasn’t a complaint. It was a comment. Delivered with a smile. I think.
Lest we give into the fallacy of the false cause, I should emphasize that the nurse didn’t say to me right then, “You’ve got a point: I’ll mention it to management.”
Am I going to follow up to learn what really happened? No.
Ah, I’m back now from my appointment with Dr. Science. Only, he was on call today at Penrose hospital, so I instead saw Rose Gates, the nurse practitioner. Remember her? When she walked in the door, I thought, “Doh! We never reached consensus on what to call her!”
I had some questions about future treatment that only my treating physician could answer, like when would I do a routine scan? And when would I start taking Tomaxacin? And what is that drug, exactly?
Rose Gates asked me when I would see Dr. Markus next. I said, “It’s not that I’m not pleased to see you, Nurse Practioner Gates, but I was actually scheduled to see Dr. Markus today.”
And so it is settled. This is what I have called her. This is what I will continue to call her. You all can go ahead and call your nurse practitioners whatever you like.
Did I tell you before about Nurse Nicole in the Chemo Barn who is a Canadian married to a USAF officer? They were stationed in Alabama for 3 years before moving here and when I first met her, she spoke with a Southern accent.
A heavy one.
“It’s so embarrassing,” she told me. That would probably be a rude thing for her to say, or rude, perhaps, that she’d find it embarrassing, or rude for me—though she both felt it and said it—for me to report. But there it is.
Maybe if it had been felt and said by an American and not a Canadian, I’d be slower to share it. Instead, I'm slow to blame a Canadian for feeling embarrassed about picking up an American southern accent. Eh?
Today, she is my nurse and I noted that she had lost her accent all together. She smiled broadly and told me that she’d just had a visit from her family for 3 weeks. The traces of Alabama have been flushed away!
“But you don’t sound Canadian, either,” I said. “You are now Every-woman!”
What else can I tell you?
I look around at the place I’d seen every Monday morning for 18 weeks in a row and it’s different: The patients are all new—no Kathy from my first day who was also here on my last; no British lady whose breast cancer turned up stage IV 12 years after her diagnosis; no young guy with his father who though Courtney the med tech was cute; no middle age businessman who worked on his laptop the whole time and fiddled with the cell phone clipped to his belt and hustled off at the end of treatment as though being here was just one more appointment to knock out in his day.
The whole crew is new. And the start of their sojourn reminds me that I’m so near the end of mine. You’d think I’d be all smiles about that, about the sheer prospect of moving on. But when I consider it, I start crying. Another layer of grief I didn’t see coming. A layer that will fade away as the others have, I’m sure.
Showing posts with label Chemo Barn. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Chemo Barn. Show all posts
Monday, January 18, 2010
Monday, November 9, 2009
Triumphant or Troubling?
Another protein day at the Chemo Barn!
My friend, Chris, took me, as she has for almost all of my protein appointments. She makes the time pleasant for me, though the Chemo Barn itself is not. And that's the subject of this post.
Flash back to my genetic counseling appointment. That guy offered a few tips about the road ahead of me that have proved more helpful than anything a doctor or nurse has told me. For instance:
He told me not to believe anyone who says that "such and such" caused my cancer--not my deodorant, not my underwire bra, not my laundry soap. There's no science to support any of these urban myths.
He told me to steer clear of the "dark clouds" in my life. e.g. People who will be sad, sad, sad for me and full of fear and pessimism. No dark cloud has come by me all this time, I'm glad to say. But still. Helpful tip.
He told me to beware of the "nuts and berries" friends who would try to be helpful by telling me to pursue all sorts of alternative therapies and avoid the very treatment that has been scientifically demonstrated to work.
He, as I mentioned, told me about how terrific the post-restorative surgery women looked. That was very helpful.
Then I asked him how he liked his job. He was, after all, going through this practical, encouraging spiel when the purpose of the appointment was simply to explain the genetic test I was submitting too. Obviously, he was into talking beyond the requirements.
He said he loved his work because he loved cancer patients. "Only really nice people get cancer. No one nasty or selfish gets it. Only the bright, brave, cheerful, nice people."
What a strange statement.
Flash forward to chemo round 4, I believe, whence I met Shannon, a nurse who was new at the center. She explained that she'd been in the Springs for a while and had been at a different job, waiting and hoping for a position in oncology to open up.
"Really?" I asked. "You want to work in a chemo barn like this?" I don't know what I'd been thinking about the other nurses, why they were there. But the suggestion that someone would seek out the opportunity to spend 40 hours a week around cancerous people getting doped with poison was just. . .far beyond me.
Shannon said that she loved oncology units because she loves cancer patients. We're so "courageous" and "full of life."
Today, Chris, who knows well my own take on the chemo barn, said that she, too, had different opinion of it. She wasn't sitting there with cancer, she said, so maybe that's why she had a different outlook. (But her husband is a "ventricular" cancer survivor from way back, when they were both in their early 20's with 2 young children, so she is allowed to have an opinion on this.)
Chris said she looked around and saw the triumph of the human spirit, and God's grace, and great strength.
Well.
Maybe we should take a poll in the chemo barn and see what other patients feel.
I talked with one a few Mondays ago, Jeannie. She was there my first round of chemo. It was her last one. She watched me get poked 24 times and told me that she'd never seen anyone have that hard a time. Jeannie was there to start more chemo. Stage 4 colon cancer. She'll be doing chemo 'till the end.
I said, "You told me on your way out that first day that it'd get better. And it did. But I still hate this place."
She laughed wryly and said that she did, too.
So we know how she'd vote. And you all know how I think most of the others would vote.
All of which comes to an observation: Those who care for those of us who have cancer see something that we patients do not.
And those of us who have cancer see something that the healthy among us do not.
What I'm interested to see is whether my perspective shifts closer to Chris's after my chemo is over and I'm just going every 3 weeks for the Herceptin. e.g. Once I'm feeling great, will I see what she sees and start seeing a lot less of what I see now?
In the meantime, I'm glad to be cared for by people who are glad to be in the Chemo Barn. Even if I do think they're a little crazy.
My friend, Chris, took me, as she has for almost all of my protein appointments. She makes the time pleasant for me, though the Chemo Barn itself is not. And that's the subject of this post.
Flash back to my genetic counseling appointment. That guy offered a few tips about the road ahead of me that have proved more helpful than anything a doctor or nurse has told me. For instance:
He told me not to believe anyone who says that "such and such" caused my cancer--not my deodorant, not my underwire bra, not my laundry soap. There's no science to support any of these urban myths.
He told me to steer clear of the "dark clouds" in my life. e.g. People who will be sad, sad, sad for me and full of fear and pessimism. No dark cloud has come by me all this time, I'm glad to say. But still. Helpful tip.
He told me to beware of the "nuts and berries" friends who would try to be helpful by telling me to pursue all sorts of alternative therapies and avoid the very treatment that has been scientifically demonstrated to work.
He, as I mentioned, told me about how terrific the post-restorative surgery women looked. That was very helpful.
Then I asked him how he liked his job. He was, after all, going through this practical, encouraging spiel when the purpose of the appointment was simply to explain the genetic test I was submitting too. Obviously, he was into talking beyond the requirements.
He said he loved his work because he loved cancer patients. "Only really nice people get cancer. No one nasty or selfish gets it. Only the bright, brave, cheerful, nice people."
What a strange statement.
Flash forward to chemo round 4, I believe, whence I met Shannon, a nurse who was new at the center. She explained that she'd been in the Springs for a while and had been at a different job, waiting and hoping for a position in oncology to open up.
"Really?" I asked. "You want to work in a chemo barn like this?" I don't know what I'd been thinking about the other nurses, why they were there. But the suggestion that someone would seek out the opportunity to spend 40 hours a week around cancerous people getting doped with poison was just. . .far beyond me.
Shannon said that she loved oncology units because she loves cancer patients. We're so "courageous" and "full of life."
Today, Chris, who knows well my own take on the chemo barn, said that she, too, had different opinion of it. She wasn't sitting there with cancer, she said, so maybe that's why she had a different outlook. (But her husband is a "ventricular" cancer survivor from way back, when they were both in their early 20's with 2 young children, so she is allowed to have an opinion on this.)
Chris said she looked around and saw the triumph of the human spirit, and God's grace, and great strength.
Well.
Maybe we should take a poll in the chemo barn and see what other patients feel.
I talked with one a few Mondays ago, Jeannie. She was there my first round of chemo. It was her last one. She watched me get poked 24 times and told me that she'd never seen anyone have that hard a time. Jeannie was there to start more chemo. Stage 4 colon cancer. She'll be doing chemo 'till the end.
I said, "You told me on your way out that first day that it'd get better. And it did. But I still hate this place."
She laughed wryly and said that she did, too.
So we know how she'd vote. And you all know how I think most of the others would vote.
All of which comes to an observation: Those who care for those of us who have cancer see something that we patients do not.
And those of us who have cancer see something that the healthy among us do not.
What I'm interested to see is whether my perspective shifts closer to Chris's after my chemo is over and I'm just going every 3 weeks for the Herceptin. e.g. Once I'm feeling great, will I see what she sees and start seeing a lot less of what I see now?
In the meantime, I'm glad to be cared for by people who are glad to be in the Chemo Barn. Even if I do think they're a little crazy.
Tuesday, October 27, 2009
Round 5, Day 2
Chemo yesterday went well. I really enjoyed my appointment with Dr. Markus. I haven't commented much on how we appreciate him. He's a very compassionate person who seems to have all the time in the world to chat throughout the appointment.
Yesterday, he walked in and I put down my crochet project. He remarked that he'd learned to knit when he was a child, but never got into crochet. This lead to other handiwork discussion and he disclosed, "Embarrassingly, I'm the one who sews in the house. When the kids need something fixed, they know to come to me."
I said, "That's not embarrassing!" and told him the story of a Navy birthday ball Bryan were at. We sat next to a SEAL and his wife and Bryan got to chatting with her about his Fall pie baking, how he'd just finished the pumpkin and was about to start on the apples.
She told us, "This macho husband of mine brought a mum plant home from Home Depot yesterday and swore me to secrecy because he felt like a sissy and here your husband is bragging about his pie baking!"
And the SEAL said, "I told you not to tell anyone!"
So, then, Dr. Science. Yes, I like him a lot. He asked about our plans after Bryan's retirement and Bryan mentioned that the plan had been to head to MO, but now we were looking to stay here. Immediately, Markus said, "Will you be near St. Louis? I have a colleague with a terrific practice there. Do you want me to look into where you could go in Kansas City?"--and he was genuinely concerned. Said it was "so sad" to have to see people change life plans because of medical issues.
I said, "Nope! I'm happy to stay here!"
And Bryan is definitely getting happy about it, too. . .
I asked, again, about his family history, and he's just not on it. I told him, "You know, Dr. Markus. Your parents are going to die one day and then there will be no one to ask."
He said his mother has put it all on 4 CD's and counting. So I guess he doesn't need to ask now. And I guess the rest of us will never know.
Chemo got started an hour late. I never know why there is a delay. . . But it all went well. I feel OK. Everything it is yet again a little worse this time--more stomach cramping, more fatigue.
But what's different is that this feels like the last 'real' round. Sister #3 will be here for Round 6, and that will make a big difference. Plus, with Round 6, as bad as I may feel, I'll know that it's the last time I'm feeling that bad! So Round 5 therefore feels like the last regular round.
Went out with 2 friends this morning and had a great time. We first dropped the kids off at Betsy's and even Amber, the friend, noted, "They settle right in, don't they?"
Yes. As though they own the joint.
And Josh is pretty thoroughly potty trained! Goes number 1 AND 2 out in public, which is kind of my standard for determining the level of thoroughness. . .
Ate feta cheese the other day to no ill effect! Ate a piece of Swiss cheese yesterday to no ill effect! Had two small pieces of brie today on my salad at lunch and might be a little off from that. But I am hopeful! Perhaps cheese can be a part of my life after all!
Very good news, because I would very much like Sister #3 to make Gramma's Stuffed Shells for us when she's here. . . .
Yesterday, he walked in and I put down my crochet project. He remarked that he'd learned to knit when he was a child, but never got into crochet. This lead to other handiwork discussion and he disclosed, "Embarrassingly, I'm the one who sews in the house. When the kids need something fixed, they know to come to me."
I said, "That's not embarrassing!" and told him the story of a Navy birthday ball Bryan were at. We sat next to a SEAL and his wife and Bryan got to chatting with her about his Fall pie baking, how he'd just finished the pumpkin and was about to start on the apples.
She told us, "This macho husband of mine brought a mum plant home from Home Depot yesterday and swore me to secrecy because he felt like a sissy and here your husband is bragging about his pie baking!"
And the SEAL said, "I told you not to tell anyone!"
So, then, Dr. Science. Yes, I like him a lot. He asked about our plans after Bryan's retirement and Bryan mentioned that the plan had been to head to MO, but now we were looking to stay here. Immediately, Markus said, "Will you be near St. Louis? I have a colleague with a terrific practice there. Do you want me to look into where you could go in Kansas City?"--and he was genuinely concerned. Said it was "so sad" to have to see people change life plans because of medical issues.
I said, "Nope! I'm happy to stay here!"
And Bryan is definitely getting happy about it, too. . .
I asked, again, about his family history, and he's just not on it. I told him, "You know, Dr. Markus. Your parents are going to die one day and then there will be no one to ask."
He said his mother has put it all on 4 CD's and counting. So I guess he doesn't need to ask now. And I guess the rest of us will never know.
Chemo got started an hour late. I never know why there is a delay. . . But it all went well. I feel OK. Everything it is yet again a little worse this time--more stomach cramping, more fatigue.
But what's different is that this feels like the last 'real' round. Sister #3 will be here for Round 6, and that will make a big difference. Plus, with Round 6, as bad as I may feel, I'll know that it's the last time I'm feeling that bad! So Round 5 therefore feels like the last regular round.
Went out with 2 friends this morning and had a great time. We first dropped the kids off at Betsy's and even Amber, the friend, noted, "They settle right in, don't they?"
Yes. As though they own the joint.
And Josh is pretty thoroughly potty trained! Goes number 1 AND 2 out in public, which is kind of my standard for determining the level of thoroughness. . .
Ate feta cheese the other day to no ill effect! Ate a piece of Swiss cheese yesterday to no ill effect! Had two small pieces of brie today on my salad at lunch and might be a little off from that. But I am hopeful! Perhaps cheese can be a part of my life after all!
Very good news, because I would very much like Sister #3 to make Gramma's Stuffed Shells for us when she's here. . . .
Monday, October 5, 2009
Live from the Chemo Barn! Part IV
I'm almost done here. Just getting a little saline flush.
To follow up on some comments in the comment box:
"Duck Magic" does in fact refer to brute force. Though this also included re-booting the computer and checking for the right settings.
"HB" below who performed in The Unsinkable Molly Brown when she had practically no hemo-count is a fellow survivor. Not of cancer. But she IS walking around with a double-organ transplant. I bring this up because her timing was good. "Good" in the sense that she had access to health care that "allowed" such a massively expensive operation to save her life. So CHEERS, Helen! Give Bro Jean a hug for me. :-)
Another entry to our girls' name list: Sherona. Very excellent.
And now it's time for me to go! It's a gorgeous Fall day, sunny and clear and not cold. We left this morning and I said, "What a beautiful day, Bryan! Let's go spend it in the chemo barn!"
But there's still an afternoon left.
To follow up on some comments in the comment box:
"Duck Magic" does in fact refer to brute force. Though this also included re-booting the computer and checking for the right settings.
"HB" below who performed in The Unsinkable Molly Brown when she had practically no hemo-count is a fellow survivor. Not of cancer. But she IS walking around with a double-organ transplant. I bring this up because her timing was good. "Good" in the sense that she had access to health care that "allowed" such a massively expensive operation to save her life. So CHEERS, Helen! Give Bro Jean a hug for me. :-)
Another entry to our girls' name list: Sherona. Very excellent.
And now it's time for me to go! It's a gorgeous Fall day, sunny and clear and not cold. We left this morning and I said, "What a beautiful day, Bryan! Let's go spend it in the chemo barn!"
But there's still an afternoon left.
Live from the Chemo Barn! Part III
A new nurse is taking care of me today. New to me, anyway. Her name is Shannon. She is very nice, as all these nurses are.
Last round's nurse was Betsy, who is very knowledgable about breast cancer in particular because she led a breast cancer support group for 8 years. I had asked for a print out of my labs for the week and she brought a printout of every lab I've done here. Then she explained them to me.
And noted that my red blood cell count was a bit low. 12.6 instead of 13.0. "Eat red meat," she told me.
Over the next 3 weeks, I did eat red meat. Ate the heck out of it. This, as compared to rarely eating red meat. In fact, in the course of a year, probably the only red meat I usually eat is in the form of a hamburger I order from a restaraunt or eat at a party.
Why?
Because I didn't know how to cook it!
What? Oh, you're telling me you know how to cook a steak?
The way I figured it, you could grill a steak outside. But we have a charcoal grill and we only fire it up for BBQ's. Or you could stir-fry little hunks o' beef for a variety of dishes, but in this case, why not just cook chicken?
Well, 3 innovations changed my diet in the last 3 weeks:
1. We bought a 1/4 of a Texas longhorn from a teeny, tiny ranching operation just East of here. I'd made the mistake of learning about where grocery store beef comes from, and so didn't go out of my way to buy it. But when we found this place that raised all-grass-fed beef locally, we gave it a shot.
2. And good thing we only bought 1/4, because shortly after we packed it into our stand alone freezer, Laura came for Round 3 and filled the rest of the freezer with food she spent the week cooking for us. This is innovation #2: Get an in house chef to turn your beef into a dish. In this case, chile and vieja de ropa, which is a Cuban pot roast.
3. And while Laura was here, innovation #3 came along: Learn how to use one's broiler.
What? You're telling me you know how to use your broiler?
Well, a lot of times, we know only what we grow up with. And the oven Mom had while I was growing up had a broiler in the drawer. She would have to pull out all her pots and pans that were stored there, and it made a gross mess, and it just seemed scary. Cooking food in the bottom drawer??? Just imagine what could go wrong!
Laura listened to me explain all this and said, "Yeah, but the rest of us have a little button on the top of our stoves and the broiler cooks the food on the very top rack."
Oh.
Oh! How easy is that??? I love my broiler! And it cooks meat so quickly! So now I'm a broiling fool. Last night, for instance, we had brisket, green beans and sweet potatoes, all of which took me 25 minutes to cook!
So. As I was saying. I've been eating a lot of red meat.
Today, I asked Dr. Science for my red blood cell count, and it's 12.9. I smiled. 'I've been eating a lot of red meat. The nurse told me to.'
He said that was fine to eat a lot of red meat. But that my red blood cell count was not related to iron intake, which is what I'd be getting from the red meat.
"It's not?" I asked.
"No, it's related to the fact that I'm kicking the snot out of your bone marrow."
Oh.
So I guess the breast cancer support group nurse, while very helpful and nice, was wrong about this one.
Which gets me back to today's nurse: Shannon. Who has not given me any dietary advice at all.
Last round's nurse was Betsy, who is very knowledgable about breast cancer in particular because she led a breast cancer support group for 8 years. I had asked for a print out of my labs for the week and she brought a printout of every lab I've done here. Then she explained them to me.
And noted that my red blood cell count was a bit low. 12.6 instead of 13.0. "Eat red meat," she told me.
Over the next 3 weeks, I did eat red meat. Ate the heck out of it. This, as compared to rarely eating red meat. In fact, in the course of a year, probably the only red meat I usually eat is in the form of a hamburger I order from a restaraunt or eat at a party.
Why?
Because I didn't know how to cook it!
What? Oh, you're telling me you know how to cook a steak?
The way I figured it, you could grill a steak outside. But we have a charcoal grill and we only fire it up for BBQ's. Or you could stir-fry little hunks o' beef for a variety of dishes, but in this case, why not just cook chicken?
Well, 3 innovations changed my diet in the last 3 weeks:
1. We bought a 1/4 of a Texas longhorn from a teeny, tiny ranching operation just East of here. I'd made the mistake of learning about where grocery store beef comes from, and so didn't go out of my way to buy it. But when we found this place that raised all-grass-fed beef locally, we gave it a shot.
2. And good thing we only bought 1/4, because shortly after we packed it into our stand alone freezer, Laura came for Round 3 and filled the rest of the freezer with food she spent the week cooking for us. This is innovation #2: Get an in house chef to turn your beef into a dish. In this case, chile and vieja de ropa, which is a Cuban pot roast.
3. And while Laura was here, innovation #3 came along: Learn how to use one's broiler.
What? You're telling me you know how to use your broiler?
Well, a lot of times, we know only what we grow up with. And the oven Mom had while I was growing up had a broiler in the drawer. She would have to pull out all her pots and pans that were stored there, and it made a gross mess, and it just seemed scary. Cooking food in the bottom drawer??? Just imagine what could go wrong!
Laura listened to me explain all this and said, "Yeah, but the rest of us have a little button on the top of our stoves and the broiler cooks the food on the very top rack."
Oh.
Oh! How easy is that??? I love my broiler! And it cooks meat so quickly! So now I'm a broiling fool. Last night, for instance, we had brisket, green beans and sweet potatoes, all of which took me 25 minutes to cook!
So. As I was saying. I've been eating a lot of red meat.
Today, I asked Dr. Science for my red blood cell count, and it's 12.9. I smiled. 'I've been eating a lot of red meat. The nurse told me to.'
He said that was fine to eat a lot of red meat. But that my red blood cell count was not related to iron intake, which is what I'd be getting from the red meat.
"It's not?" I asked.
"No, it's related to the fact that I'm kicking the snot out of your bone marrow."
Oh.
So I guess the breast cancer support group nurse, while very helpful and nice, was wrong about this one.
Which gets me back to today's nurse: Shannon. Who has not given me any dietary advice at all.
Live from the Chemo Barn! Part II
Got another question answered, btw.
I asked Dr. Markus, "How are we to refer to a nurse practioner?"
Well, he explained, Rose, the NP here, has her PhD, so we could call her Dr. Gates, but she prefers to be called Rose.
Yeah, but what if she weren't a PhD.
Then the title is simply, "Ms."
Bryan asked what, exactly, a nurse practitioner is.
It's an advanced degree beyond an RN, but not doctorate level.
I said, "So, like a Masters."
"Yes."
"So we could call her Mistress Gates?"
He said, "What she does on her own time is her business."
I asked Dr. Markus, "How are we to refer to a nurse practioner?"
Well, he explained, Rose, the NP here, has her PhD, so we could call her Dr. Gates, but she prefers to be called Rose.
Yeah, but what if she weren't a PhD.
Then the title is simply, "Ms."
Bryan asked what, exactly, a nurse practitioner is.
It's an advanced degree beyond an RN, but not doctorate level.
I said, "So, like a Masters."
"Yes."
"So we could call her Mistress Gates?"
He said, "What she does on her own time is her business."
Live from the Chemo Barn!
11:45, I've been dripping for almost 45 minutes. It took them a while to get the bags ready, and it took me a while to get on line.
Actually, I wasn't able to connect. The browser wouldn't find a web page. Bryan said, 'Do you want me to play with it?'
"What are you going to do that's different from what I'm doing?"
He smiled. "Duck magic."
An hour later, he was online. I asked him the secret of Duck Magic, but he wouldn't tell me.
My appointment was with Dr. Markus. I asked him if he had any more family history to share. After all, he said he'd get it from his mother who was visiting the last time I saw him.
He said, "I remembered right as I walked into the room that you were going to ask me that. But I forgot to ask her and I'd call her right now except that she's impossible to get off the phone with."
Sheesh!
I don't understand why he doesn't want to know this stuff. And he seems to be completely unconcerned that my readership wants to know, too!
I had a different pressing question for him: What does he think about all the pink?
"You mean, breast cancer awareness month?"
"The whole thing," I said, "Pink ribbons on everything. Products in pink versions of themselves. . ."
He figured it was all good for raising awareness and getting people fired up.
I asked what he thought about the research dollars that this awareness gathers up. "As an oncologist, does it bother you to see that it's kind of lopsided? No pun intended. . ."
He said that in his research program and med school, all their discussions were about the science, and what choices the science would recommend. Where should the research dollars go? Well, what does the science say would produce the most good for the most people?
But then he saw how politics and social influences are effective. During the Clinton years, the Kormen foundation and other breast cancer advocacy groups kicked it into high gear and got savvy--lobbied like crazy in DC and suddenly Congressmen were well-versed in mammogram technology and biopsy procedures.
"Pretty smart," Markus said, "When there's a finite amount of research dollars, that's a great way to grab them up."
Huh. Well. . .yeah. I guess I'm mostly just glad that I've got a cancer that's been researched so extensively and is now treated so effectively.
More on Pink issues later.
Actually, I wasn't able to connect. The browser wouldn't find a web page. Bryan said, 'Do you want me to play with it?'
"What are you going to do that's different from what I'm doing?"
He smiled. "Duck magic."
An hour later, he was online. I asked him the secret of Duck Magic, but he wouldn't tell me.
My appointment was with Dr. Markus. I asked him if he had any more family history to share. After all, he said he'd get it from his mother who was visiting the last time I saw him.
He said, "I remembered right as I walked into the room that you were going to ask me that. But I forgot to ask her and I'd call her right now except that she's impossible to get off the phone with."
Sheesh!
I don't understand why he doesn't want to know this stuff. And he seems to be completely unconcerned that my readership wants to know, too!
I had a different pressing question for him: What does he think about all the pink?
"You mean, breast cancer awareness month?"
"The whole thing," I said, "Pink ribbons on everything. Products in pink versions of themselves. . ."
He figured it was all good for raising awareness and getting people fired up.
I asked what he thought about the research dollars that this awareness gathers up. "As an oncologist, does it bother you to see that it's kind of lopsided? No pun intended. . ."
He said that in his research program and med school, all their discussions were about the science, and what choices the science would recommend. Where should the research dollars go? Well, what does the science say would produce the most good for the most people?
But then he saw how politics and social influences are effective. During the Clinton years, the Kormen foundation and other breast cancer advocacy groups kicked it into high gear and got savvy--lobbied like crazy in DC and suddenly Congressmen were well-versed in mammogram technology and biopsy procedures.
"Pretty smart," Markus said, "When there's a finite amount of research dollars, that's a great way to grab them up."
Huh. Well. . .yeah. I guess I'm mostly just glad that I've got a cancer that's been researched so extensively and is now treated so effectively.
More on Pink issues later.
Monday, September 14, 2009
Chemo Barn Visitor
Drippage is almost complete so we'll be packing up here and heading back to the house.
The halfway point is done - she's looking at the downhill stretch of the program and, as confirmed by Dr. Substitute, all is going well.
It's been.....different.
Some educational moments, some lunch, some laughs, some yucky stuff.
Time to take Lil' Hippo home.
Tomorrow it's back to All Amy, All the Time
The halfway point is done - she's looking at the downhill stretch of the program and, as confirmed by Dr. Substitute, all is going well.
It's been.....different.
Some educational moments, some lunch, some laughs, some yucky stuff.
Time to take Lil' Hippo home.
Tomorrow it's back to All Amy, All the Time
Live from the Chemo Barn! Part IX
I am on my last bag of drippage, cruising around the internet to check up on my favorite spots when I found the following post on a page that Laura, the sister sitting next to me, told me about months ago.
I can't link to it because it features a lot of bad language. But I cut and paste the relevant text.
The post made me laugh out loud. Then I showed it to Laura, who'd already seen it, and she laughed again. And I laughed even louder. Then she told me to stop because I was going to make her wet herself. And, by then, we were both crying. The guy sitting across from me asked, "What are they giving you?"
The good stuff, buddy.
What's with the stupid pose, Cat? I'm sure you think you are just headed for the Sears catalog now... or you are making fun of people who are headed for the Sears catalog. I'm going to be honest with you, Cat, you look like a total loser, so I really hope this isn't your laid-back-but-sophisticated look.
On the other hand, if you're really trying to make an ironic statement about funny photo portraits in a turn-of-the-century trucker-hat kind of way, then a. I hate you and b. you really should have gone all way
I can't link to it because it features a lot of bad language. But I cut and paste the relevant text.
The post made me laugh out loud. Then I showed it to Laura, who'd already seen it, and she laughed again. And I laughed even louder. Then she told me to stop because I was going to make her wet herself. And, by then, we were both crying. The guy sitting across from me asked, "What are they giving you?"
The good stuff, buddy.
What's with the stupid pose, Cat? I'm sure you think you are just headed for the Sears catalog now... or you are making fun of people who are headed for the Sears catalog. I'm going to be honest with you, Cat, you look like a total loser, so I really hope this isn't your laid-back-but-sophisticated look.
On the other hand, if you're really trying to make an ironic statement about funny photo portraits in a turn-of-the-century trucker-hat kind of way, then a. I hate you and b. you really should have gone all way
Chemo Barn Visitor
- I, too, love the bullet point feature.
- It makes my thoughts seem more important.
- Also, it seems that a great slab of humanity has lost the ability to pay attention for longer than a bullet point thought (thank you Mr. Gates)
- So in order to reach more people, it is important to make frequent use of said BPs.
Live from the Chemo Barn! Part VIII
Cha-ching on a few different levels:
- I am liking the bullet points, Chemo Visitor
- And you are right next to me to show me how to do them
- And right now, "Lil Hippo" is the front-running contender, if the rest of you are looking for direction
Chemo Barn Visitor
I would like to suggest one of the following:
- Lil' Hippo (because it is three times the size of my sweetie)
- The Cadillac or other luxury car name (because it's a luxury laptop)
- Delia or Delilah (it's a Dell)
Taking a leap of faith here, Amy. You may be stuck with something you can't live with.
Live from the Chemo Barn: Part VII
I'm writing on Lil' Sweetie. This is what Laura has named her laptop. Which makes me think: I should name my laptop.
So here's a contest of sorts: I invite you all to submit names for my laptop from now until I leave the chemo barn, which should be in about 2 hours. eg. 2 PM mountain time. I'll choose one of the names submited (and if there's only 1, so be it) and use it to refer to my laptop from now until the end of my chemo treatments in November.
Will this entice anyone to participate in the simultaneousl live blogging?
Oh, wait, Laura just did some razzle dazzle with my laptop (insert future name here), and it's now connected. She probably wants Lil' Sweetie back.
So here's a contest of sorts: I invite you all to submit names for my laptop from now until I leave the chemo barn, which should be in about 2 hours. eg. 2 PM mountain time. I'll choose one of the names submited (and if there's only 1, so be it) and use it to refer to my laptop from now until the end of my chemo treatments in November.
Will this entice anyone to participate in the simultaneousl live blogging?
Oh, wait, Laura just did some razzle dazzle with my laptop (insert future name here), and it's now connected. She probably wants Lil' Sweetie back.
Chemo Barn Visitor
Well, lunch has been delivered - Bryan came by with Gemma and Josh and Boston Market chicken salad sandwiches...very tasty.
The kids were not impressed with the facility and although they were interested with all the tubes coming out of Mommy they were much more interested in getting back out to the car where they had sweet potatoes from Boston Market waiting for them.
The first bag just finished up, two more to go. On the whole, a pretty dull process. I will admit that it is odd to be eating a chicken salad sandwich in a room full of people on recliners hooked up to bags of poison.
btw, Amy is having trouble connecting to the internet so it'll just be me for a while.
The kids were not impressed with the facility and although they were interested with all the tubes coming out of Mommy they were much more interested in getting back out to the car where they had sweet potatoes from Boston Market waiting for them.
The first bag just finished up, two more to go. On the whole, a pretty dull process. I will admit that it is odd to be eating a chicken salad sandwich in a room full of people on recliners hooked up to bags of poison.
btw, Amy is having trouble connecting to the internet so it'll just be me for a while.
Chemo Barn Visitor
Ah yes, the substitute Dr. He was nice. I was sorry to miss meeting Dr. Science but he should be there next time for Amy.
The good news was that Amy appears to be doing very well with the regimen, her reactions to the chemo are all within normal range and her body is handling things well. Substitute Dr. almost seemed a little disappointed - as in, not much for him to address.
He did get a little excited at the opportunity to answer some of Amy's questions re: longer term impacts of the Herceptin. He mentioned the possibility of hot flashes but told her that they wouldn't be all that extreme and that they weren't all that bad anyway. I asked how he was doing with them because they were really making it tough for me to get a good night's sleep.
Amy's labs are back and they are getting ready to hook up the bag o'poison. I'll be looking away now.
The good news was that Amy appears to be doing very well with the regimen, her reactions to the chemo are all within normal range and her body is handling things well. Substitute Dr. almost seemed a little disappointed - as in, not much for him to address.
He did get a little excited at the opportunity to answer some of Amy's questions re: longer term impacts of the Herceptin. He mentioned the possibility of hot flashes but told her that they wouldn't be all that extreme and that they weren't all that bad anyway. I asked how he was doing with them because they were really making it tough for me to get a good night's sleep.
Amy's labs are back and they are getting ready to hook up the bag o'poison. I'll be looking away now.
Chemo Barn VI
Back from the substitute doctor.
I feel for a guy in this situation. All he's got before opening the door to the exam/consultation room is a chart 2 inches thick with a name on it.
He opened the door. Saw me. Saw Laura. Said, "Hello."
I said, "Hello. I'm the patient." And I tipped my hat to him.
He wasn't sure if I meant this to be a little jokie jokie. . .
It all went pretty well. I had some questions. He knew the answers. The chairs were arranged in an "L" in the corner, with the doctor's stool between. So I was on one side of him. He faced me, and I could see Laura to his side.
I asked him a lymphedema question, and he wanted to know how many lymph nodes I'd had removed. I told him, "All of them."
He: "People have different amounts."
Me: "I think the number was 23."
He: "Oh. . .that's a bunch."
At which point, Laura rolled her eyes, a big "DUH!" written all over her face.
So, yeah, substitute doctor. Nice guy. Competent, as he was able to answer my questions in great detail. Yet. Something about him didn't seem as smart as Dr. Science.
We're back in the barn, awaiting my lab report. Once those numbers are official, they can hook me up for meds.
I feel for a guy in this situation. All he's got before opening the door to the exam/consultation room is a chart 2 inches thick with a name on it.
He opened the door. Saw me. Saw Laura. Said, "Hello."
I said, "Hello. I'm the patient." And I tipped my hat to him.
He wasn't sure if I meant this to be a little jokie jokie. . .
It all went pretty well. I had some questions. He knew the answers. The chairs were arranged in an "L" in the corner, with the doctor's stool between. So I was on one side of him. He faced me, and I could see Laura to his side.
I asked him a lymphedema question, and he wanted to know how many lymph nodes I'd had removed. I told him, "All of them."
He: "People have different amounts."
Me: "I think the number was 23."
He: "Oh. . .that's a bunch."
At which point, Laura rolled her eyes, a big "DUH!" written all over her face.
So, yeah, substitute doctor. Nice guy. Competent, as he was able to answer my questions in great detail. Yet. Something about him didn't seem as smart as Dr. Science.
We're back in the barn, awaiting my lab report. Once those numbers are official, they can hook me up for meds.
Chemo Barn Visitor
Mmmmmm. Animal crackers - haven't had these in years. And they're very generous with the portions - the little zip lock baggies all have what seems like a full box.
This is going to be fun - Amy is making observations about all her fellow recipients here. I just hope none of them find the blog...
This is going to be fun - Amy is making observations about all her fellow recipients here. I just hope none of them find the blog...
Chemo Barn V
Ah, yes, I haven't even mentioned the refreshment station at the chemo barn. Coffee and tea available. Little bags of pretzels and. . .Laura is now back--seems like Animal Crackers, too. Yes, Mom, this what your first born is eating for breakfast.
Chemo Barn Visitor
Amy is more observant than I am - totally missed the cute new guy. I did see the woman here with her husband (who has no hair), she took a photo of him with her phone. His response - Now why would you do that?
It's a new phone, she's trying to figure out how to make it work.
It's starting to fill up - good thing we got here early. Access to wall outlets is key. I'm going to get some coffee.
It's a new phone, she's trying to figure out how to make it work.
It's starting to fill up - good thing we got here early. Access to wall outlets is key. I'm going to get some coffee.
Live from the Chemo Barn! Part IV
Round 3, coming my way!
Sister #1 is here with me. We arrived 15 minutes early to be sure we got good seats. "Good," as in, "minimal view of other cancer sojourners and easy access to power outlets so we can BLOG SIMULTANEOUSLY."
Well. We ended up with a maximum view of the chemo barn. But the power outlets are all ours, baby.
Courtney withdrew my blood at 8:20 to send to the lab. My appointment with the doctor is to happen at 9:30. But this will not yield any further Markus Family History because that doctor is not in today. Instead, I'm seeing a substitute. I'll let you know all about him or her.
There's only one other patient here so far. A young guy. Not older than 25. Here with his Dad. I think he thought Courtney was cute. But it might just be that he was doing the whole rookie thing. You know: I'm OK. I'm really pleasant. I don't mind being here. I'm happy to see you! brave face thing.
Not that I did that. My rookie position was more: I can't believe I'm going to have chemo pumped into my body. This very moment might be my nadir.
Oh! His name is Joseph. The nurse just called him.
Other signs he is a rookie:
He has a full head of hair and a beard. And Courtney used the freezing spray on him before sticking with him, whereas those of us more seasoned have our lidocane cream we put on at home.
More to come.
Sister #1 is here with me. We arrived 15 minutes early to be sure we got good seats. "Good," as in, "minimal view of other cancer sojourners and easy access to power outlets so we can BLOG SIMULTANEOUSLY."
Well. We ended up with a maximum view of the chemo barn. But the power outlets are all ours, baby.
Courtney withdrew my blood at 8:20 to send to the lab. My appointment with the doctor is to happen at 9:30. But this will not yield any further Markus Family History because that doctor is not in today. Instead, I'm seeing a substitute. I'll let you know all about him or her.
There's only one other patient here so far. A young guy. Not older than 25. Here with his Dad. I think he thought Courtney was cute. But it might just be that he was doing the whole rookie thing. You know: I'm OK. I'm really pleasant. I don't mind being here. I'm happy to see you! brave face thing.
Not that I did that. My rookie position was more: I can't believe I'm going to have chemo pumped into my body. This very moment might be my nadir.
Oh! His name is Joseph. The nurse just called him.
Other signs he is a rookie:
He has a full head of hair and a beard. And Courtney used the freezing spray on him before sticking with him, whereas those of us more seasoned have our lidocane cream we put on at home.
More to come.
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