i sit before you, having in the last 96 hours: been tested for COVID-19 at a drive through stop (negative), been tested for allergies to my main chemo drug, carboplatin, which involves several hours of injecting various dosages into your arm and waiting for something bad to happen (nothing did), spilling my proverbial guts to the oncology nurse practitioner who was literally guiding me to the exit door after 40 minutes (i always forget that these medical peeps by practice have to write down everything you say, even if you're pouring your very heart out because finally someone who understands is listening, that gets written up in your "visit report." (like, "patient says she is very angry that she has had a recurrence. patient says she has screamed a lot when her husband isn't home," etc.). it's like having your diary stolen for medical purposes or something. i always forget.
what else did i do? oh, the next day i went for a procedure to get a chemo port placed just under my collarbone and attached to some giant vein or whatever, because it makes things easier when you are looking at a forseeable future of otherwise being injected by needles a lot. it's efficient, it's nifty, it does the job well, and it's also a reminder that you have many cancer-related thingies coming up.
also, it hurts to get the thing put in because you have to crane your next to one side, like waaaay over to one side and stay still while your chest areas is slathered with some blue-green numbing gel that itches like a mofo, and you cannot use your hands to scratch it. also, the cutting bit, which is small but you know, conscious sedation means you still know they're cutting you. there was more but i'll spare you.
i needed to get that port put it because TODAY i spent from 7 am until 7 pm in the hospital undergoing a "desensitization," which sounds like a cult deprogramming method, but really it's a very, very diluted and slowed down chemo drip of the drug they think you are allergic to. for this lovely day out, you go to Boston and become an "inpatient for the day," hanging out on the oncology ward of a major metropolitan hospital where the doctor tells you, "you are the healthiest person on this floor," which really throws you for a loop.
so what happened? i had my super-slow drug administration, with a nurse next to me at her desk the entire time in case i went into anaphylactic shock (i did not). nothing at all happened, which is good news, but also: i am so tired. yesterday on the port-insertion day, i was not allowed to eat or drink for 6 hours, which turned into 9 hours because it's crazy-busy in the procedure room these days.
also i am not allowed to shower for 48 hours after placing the port, which might be fine for someone who does not have hot flashes and night sweats and legs-that-stick-to-each-other syndrome. so i'm here feeling pri-tee disgusting.
but also relieved, right? and i finished chemo #2 so now, only 4 to go. this was not a typical week, but it was a week of consecutive shitty days that ended with 10 hours of getting poisoned to kill the poison that lives unceremoniously in my; body. so, all in all, mixed.
all that lies ahead now are side effects and at least we know what those are and can try to get on top of them before they happen.
i survived by going through, which is the only way to do it. but holy smokes what a fucker of things to go through. and clearly, i was the "healthiest" person on the oncology floor, which should tell you something -- specifically it should make you wonder why all the "survivor" and "survival" movies are about people (mostly white, good-looking people) who "overcome" circumstances like free-climbing and free-diving and deathlike winter temperatures, and it's almost always this athletic stuff, seeming unachievable feats of daring that can be surmounted only by a chiseled chest, keto diet, and lots of practice?
where is the movie about one day or one week or one month in the life of someone with a scary cancer, which is not surmounted by chiseled chests and keto diets and practice (just ask the marathon-runner one infusion bay to my right), which might not be surmounted at all? that's a fucking survivor, if you ask me.
no one did ask me, of course. but that's what blogs are for.
No comments:
Post a Comment