This is an important day for me. It's the
seventh, and last, day of the chemotherapy treatment.
Because my Little
Buddy is no longer doing the job of pumping the chemo
juice into my vein, there's been a delay in the last
hour that I will receive the treatment. At four
o'clock, the IV will be taken out. See, I've
been keying on that last hour in my mind. It's like
the starting line of a race or journey - it's the
beginning of recovery. Up
until now it's been all diagnosis and treatment.
Today I start the road back to good health. I've
set some long-range goals for myself in that regard for
motivation and measurement. I've decided to run a
10K (ten kilometer or 6.2 mile) road race on my 52nd
birthday or there abouts. Second, I'm going to train
at cycling until I can ride 50 miles again like I
used to do with some frequency.
When finally the IV is withdrawn from my arm, I feel
like cheering, something probably not
appropriate for the cancer ward. There's been a
strange
ambivalence about this chemical. On the one hand, it
is a poison. Its odor is oozing through my pores.
My body has a smell that I've never had before. It
stinks. Is it the smell of death? Probably. But, on
the other hand, that chemo fluid is the cure. It's
the medicine that will destroy those hairy little
bastards that are squatting in my blood stream like
so many evil street people in a crowded city.
There's
little room for the good blood cells. It's time to
sweep
the streets!
So anyway, I feel good that the treatment has finally
ended. Of course, I'm still being medicated because
I have no natural immunity. The chemotherapy kills
the white cells that normally would fight infection.
A powerful antibiotic called Primaxin is fed
intravenously. It is killing the infection, and the
fever has come down. My appetite is still weak, but
the act of chewing is no longer repulsive. I am able
to perceive a path to health.
In my quest for a good night's sleep, I've formulated
a new plan. I ask Dr. Thai if I can't skip the 4
a.m. "vitals". He is agreeable. This will let me
sleep through the night.
So at 10:30 the nurse comes in to hook up the evening
antibiotics. This will take about an hour. I know
this because the IV has a metered flow and I've
learned its habits. It has a beeping alarm that
comes on when it is done and I have been calling the
nurse on my "nurse button" by my bed when the time
expires, mainly so she can come in and turn off the
annoying beeping. So I've got it figured that at
11:30,
the administering of the antibiotic will be complete,
I'll get my "vitals" taken and then, at long last,
I'll get as much sleep, hopefully unbroken, as I
need.
At 11:30 the beeping starts, so I buzz the nurse.
She
comes in, fiddles with the IV pole and starts to
leave. "Hey, aren't you going to take the tube out of
my arm?" She says the IV is not done yet. I say,
"What d'ya mean, the time is up." She says, "Well,
the nurse that set this up forgot to turn on the
valve for the antibiotic flow." "Well (expletive)!",
I
said. "That is incompetent." For the first time in
the hospital I've lost my patience. Now I'll have to
stay awake another hour waiting for the proper
sequence to transpire. My sleep plan has run into a
glich. Forgot to turn on the
flow!
I'm very tired but I endure it. I stay awake because
I know that if I nap and then they wake me after the IV
is done, I'll be alert and will have trouble falling
back asleep. Finally, all the nursing and doctoring
is done about 12:45. I do get about 5 unbroken hours
of
sleep. That may be a record on this floor.
July 8th
