I’m out of the hospital. After a great morning in the hospital yesterday, felt perky and energetic, even while getting my bleomycin (chemo drug) and the most delicious hospital meal I’ve had – a turkey-bacon wrap – my stomach started to feel bad. I guess I’m still learning what it means for me to feel nauseated because that is not how I would have described the feeling, and yet, a few minutes later, up came lunch! So I was really miserable for a few hours – they gave me some more drugs that didn’t help, and some that did, and eventually decided I was fit to go home. I’m still getting blood drawn almost every day so we can get it to a point of being thin enough from the Coumadin, the oral blood thinner I take.
That is something to look forward to because for now I get an injection of a substance called Lovenox twice a day. “LOW-vuh-nocks” is how it’s pronounced, so it made me laugh when I finally saw it written down (on my takehome Lovenox Box) because to me it looks like “Love Knocks,” some highly ethical dating service. Do not be fooled. It’s an injection, a shot I have to give myself in the stomach twice a day, and it hurts, even for a while after it's over.
Okay, so actually I feel a little bit powerful to be able to do that – and even to adjust my own dosage, but it still takes a substantial amount of courage each time to plunge the needle into my own flesh.
Being in crisis mode, which I guess I qualify under right now, has some other difficulties that come along with it.
My dear dear friend and housemate Jodi moved to Canada today. Well, it will take her a few days to arrive, but she left from our house in Calle Herculo this morning. There are other shocking things involved with this process, such as coming home from the hospital to all my belongings and wall hangings and clothing, neatly packed by some helpful friends and stacked on the back porch. Jodi’s stuff was all packed into her car, giving the house a much more hollow look. I knew this was happening, but a suddenly naked room is always startle.
And it’s at times like these that I wish I could just stop having cancer for a day, or totally switch it off for just a few hours, and spend a last few moments as just housemates, friends thinking back over our years of adventures and revelations and projects together. Last night I was feeling well enough that this could happen in spurts. But the default channels in my mind concern either my bodily functions or hospital staff and it’s hard to feel like a normal person with normal things to talk about that come easily.
I suspect that as my treatment continues I will have more and more occasions to feel these ways. But today I’m looking forward to my longest break so far – 6 days without any chemo drugs – and my sister coming tomorrow, the possibility of a quilting project, getting started in a new house, and the prospect of having some energy for that.
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