June 30th

I have been aware of my illness now for over two weeks. Today finally, I begin the process of getting better. Up until today it's all been diagnosis. I will be hooked up to the portable little pump that will feed the chemotherapy into my vein. I face this prospect with two different attitudes. On the one hand it's my cure, on the other there is the possible ordeal of it. The discomfort, the nausea, the loss of hair, the thought that chemicals are in my blood to kill cells, both good and bad, unfortunately. Neverthelss, it's stiff -upper-lip-time.

My appointment is for three o'clock. Unlike before, my wife Jane has accompanied me to the office. I have my book, Animal Farm by George Orwell with me. So far, this busy doctor has never been better than one hour late to see me. So I'm prepared but lo and behold I don't wait five minutes and we are shown to the back area of the office where there is a large room with five Lazy Boy recliners arranged in a semi-circle, with curtains hanging from the ceiling that can be drawn to create five cubicles. Three of the recliners are occupied with old men receiving treatments, some hooked up to IV's. It is not an enlivening scene. I keep thinking how much better in health I must appear than most of the patients I see. But there is certainly no denying it, I have the disease.

Pretty soon my nurse Marcia comes in. She's an over -forty, pleasant faced little blond haired woman. She takes my vital signs, while beginning the information dissemination process. She has a booklet about HCL for me. Then she brings out the machine. It looks like a portable cassette player in size with a digtal read out on its front that shows the level of flow through the tube that leads from it. That tube of course will be hooked up to the port in my left arm. For the first time since the surgery on Friday, it's Monday, I'll see the arm. She removes the bandage from my elbow and forearm. It's not pretty, some dried blood and an incision about 1 1/2 inches long across the forearm. My arm is feeling a little numb near the wrist and elbow. She mentions it looks reddened to her.

Dr. Thai comes by. He asks how I am, but there isn't much more. He says that the arm looks like there might be some infection and gives me a prescription for antibiotics. This isn't very comforting for me. The most cautious part of the chemo is avoiding infection, because your infection fighting cells are diminished. I may have an infection already. Oh well, the antibiotics should take care of it.

I've decided not to watch the work on my arm. I nearly fainted once when acompanying Jane to one of her blood tests. I was there for moral support, yet when the nurse had trouble finding a suitable vein to place the needle in, I kept watching it. Poking her skin, proding, poking without success, when suddenly I felt light-headed, had to leave the room and was lucky to make it to a couch before I hit the floor. Some moral support! Well, Marcia doesn't have trouble with my vein, drawing a couple small vials of blood for an on-the-spot blood test. Then she inserts the fitting through the skin into the port in my arm. It goes very easily as I am focusing on the other patients in the large room. The blood test will serve as a starting point for my rehab. The platelet count is up slightly. Platelets help to clot the blood when the skin is cut. Initially my count was 55 from my physical exam. It's now 63! Yet, normal would be somewhere between 150 and 4000. Not to worry, in the bleeding test for the surgery, my blood clotted well within the normal time range.

So, Marcia shows me all about the little pump unit. The medicine is in a little clear plastic pouch next to the unit, connected by a plastic tube. The whole thing fits in a black case that can fit on a belt or hang from the shoulder with a strap. It is battery powered. Every day during the seven day treatment, I'll come in and get a new little bag of chemical and a new battery. The machine runs for about two seconds every thirty seconds, so that's 120 cycles every hour, 2800 every day. Yeah, a new battery every day makes sense. It's a 9-volt battery like you put in a smoke alarm. So, I learn all about its features. It has an alarm if something goes wrong. It has a programmable aspect, and we program it to dispense 4.16 cubic centimeters per day. It's turned on finally. I am now receiving the juice! The 2-CdA! Yeah! I can't feel a thing, of course.

So, I collect my things. It's a little cumbersome because I've got the unit over my shoulder, the tube dangling at my side, things in my hands, and the bandaged arm. Marcia has wrapped an Ace-type bandage around the port at my request. I don't really want to see it, or have it seen by my daughter Bryn. I'm out of the office. I have an appointment for 3 p.m. the next day.

We have a few errands to run before we get home. Our dog Sandy is at the vet. Poor thing, she has developed a tumor on her throat. We're having a biopsy done on it and it's time to pick her up. Bryn is at a friend's house. So we get our two loved ones, Sandy and Bryn, and head for home. The vet thinks it looks bad for Sandy. I'm feeling sorry for Jane. Her Mom has been in the hospital. She is losing her sight. I have leukemia. And now her dog is very ill.

At home I'm adjusting to my new "Buddy". That's what I've started calling this thing administering the chemo. He's fairly noisy, every thirty seconds there is this whirring sound for two seconds. On my person I can feel the vibration every time it operates. It becomes a constant reminder of my condition, yet a constant reminder of my cure. It is a neutral thing, I am the one who decides how I feel about the thirty second reminder. I've also found that it hooked on my belt with the tube threaded through my shirt and down the sleeve is the most comfortable and mobile way to go. I am somewhat handicapped by it. Going to the bathroom becomes more difficult. Taking a bath is going to necessitate some assistance.

I've had a big day, though I can't define it as stressful. It's going pretty well and I am adjusting. The sore arm is a slight problem, but I'm taking the antibiotics. Ready for bed, I place my "Buddy" on the floor next to the bed. The room is quiet. Jane is going to sleep downstairs tonight, she says, figuring she might cause me some disturbance. My "Buddy" is noisy. Every thirty seconds there he is talking. "Whrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr." I put a pillow over him. That helps alot but I hear his muffled complaint. "Whrrrrrrrrrrrrrr." I turn on the overhead fan and his "voice" is somewhat obscured. Sleep. Beautiful sleep comes quickly.

Suddenly I am awake, only two hours later. My arm hurts. I feel my left arm with my right hand. It is numb and the tendons near the wrist and elbow are borderline painful. I massage it a little and let the arm hang from my side. This seems to help. Now I've got time to think. This numbness and slight pain seem to be a confounding variable I can do without. It's been pretty easy so far. Is the luck running out? After a while I feel sleepy. Finally, I fall asleep and get four more hours