Monday, August 10, 2009

Therapy: Day 1

First, some words that have been floating around my head:

1. Grazelda received her name simply because it's a name that I have always thought was remarkably ugly (my deepest sympathies for any readers out there actually saddled with this unfortunate moniker), and I have similar emotions toward the tumor/cancer that was flourishing in my gut. In fact, much like the word "moist," the name Grazelda seems to be quite unpopular - when I was in the hospital, a friend here brought me a doll, one of her toddler's, that she had christened thusly for similar reasons. The big bummer is that it got lost among the hospital sheets and left.

2. I think it sounds less dramatic if I call it "Therapy" instead of "Chemo:" Somehow it invokes green fields and soothing music instead of cell death and IVs. So here's hoping I get the less dramatic end of things!

3. Last night I was talking to a friend who'd undergone similar treatment a couple years ago, and she used the word "twisted" to describe the whole process. I find that very apt: I'm sick (though I feel better than I have in almost a month), so they pump me full of these drugs to kill the bad cells, and make me better, but the immediate effect is to make me feel sick and even compromise my immune system, increasing the chances that I will get (different) sick, so they pump me full of other drugs to make me (hopefully) not feel/get sick. Twisted.


Second, the report on today:

It is possible that today - between my anti-nausea cocktail (5), anti-nausea prescriptions (3), and chemo (3) - I received more different kinds of drugs than I have in my life accumulated up until this point.

But the therapy aspect was there, too. There's a large room with a line of comfortable, maroon armchairs and IV hangers in between each one. Patients come and sit and get hooked up to their goody bags and wait for them to drip out. Shirley is the main nurse there (and I'm just waiting for the opportunity for an Airplane joke . . . ). She knows everyone and everyone knows her and even though there were 2 people waiting to be hooked up, she took the time before hooking me up to answer all the questions I had accumulated and written down over the weekend. There is lots of laughter, lots of joshing around in this room, as I think is necessary.

Today there was an 84-year-old woman named Betty who also had ovarian cancer and was there for her last dose (after 18 weeks). She sat 2 chairs down from me and would occasionally share from her experience - IVs and hair loss and hanging out in the chemo room. Unfortunately she couldn't hear me, and at one point said she couldn't look at me because she'd start crying, which I will interpret to mean it makes her sad that someone so young and beautiful (her word) has to start this process instead of in some negative (in French accent: She ees so ugly, she makes zee old women weep) way. But I listened to her conversations with Mom and we shared gingersnaps with her and applauded when they handed her her diploma at the end of the day. I'm glad she "got out," but I wish I could see her again.

Most people it seems are on a 1-day-every-X-weeks schedule, which makes me a little jealous I guess, and feel like I won't get to know people very quickly. I think it'll be worth knowing people: We were there for seven hours today. Granted, it was a slow start, and there was some trouble with IVs (I'll probably get a PICC line), but with the long drive each way, it feels like a part-time job.


Third, the report on me:

"But Margaret," you ask, "how are you?"
Well, I don't feel like shit. Yet. I have 3 kinds of prescription anti-nausea meds at my disposal and I haven't had to use any of them. I haven't felt the need to nap, I ate a substantial (and delicious) dinner that friends made, and dessert. I'm probably a little more tired than usual right now. And the skeptical, cautious, cowering-in-the-corner, scared-out-of-her-red-underpants-that-this-is-going-to-be-awful cynic part of me qualifies all of that with a giant YET.

The other good news is that I'm supposed to be sure to get enough calories and protein. Milkshakes twice a day are highly recommended. How often does your doctor tell you that?!

3 comments:

  1. Margaret-

    I think we've only met a couple of times, but so many people I know say such wonderful things about you...

    I want to tell you good luck; the thoughts of many are with you, known and unknown.

    Toby Tyner

    ReplyDelete
  2. Margaret,
    cottage cheese is also a really good source of protein. 13 grams in 1/2 cup. Love you and praying for you.
    Sara

    ReplyDelete
  3. Margaret,
    I think of you often.
    Bill

    ReplyDelete