I know, I know—what happened to Day 2? Don't ask me, I'm only the patient.
The best thing I can say about this adventure's next day is this: I've been moved into the what must be the oncology floor's Presidential Suite. Compared to the closet I was living in, this is palatial.
But, it has a downside: can't walk to the bathroom without unplugging my five-wheeled friend, the IV stand.
Small price to pay.
At about 10:30 a.m., the dreaded nausea appeared in a mild form. Fire bells rang in my head and I, who usually try to not bother the nurses, immediately rang for help.
I've made it unremittingly clear—repeating the message as if whacking folks with a sledge hammer—that my greatest fear is suffering unrelenting nausea and vomiting. The good nurse Kelly was immediately in the horn to Dr. O and, voila!, within minutes extra meds were being pumped into me.
Bring it on.
Otherwise the day passes slowly. I've been able to work some in the morning. Afternoons bring with more fatigue. Laina has delivered some dumb-funny DVDs which will hopefully help the p.m. pass more easily.
It's still difficult to get my head around the idea of being here for a month. And then returning several times afterwards. That's more of a commitment to schedule than I've had since I no longer had to do high school, gymnastics and baseball practice car pools for the kids.
I'd trade back for those car pool obligations right now, believe me, no matter how nasty those kids were.
We are now done with the "push" aspect of this treatment—that is, when the one drug is injected directly over a 3-4 minute period. Which, in a way, just means more sitting around with one less landmark in the day, and only my 24-hour med drip to keep me company. Sometimes I look up at it and try to watch its progress, but it moves more slowly than I do, yet not quickly enough to hypnotize or to lull me into sleep.
So, I go back to—whatever.
So, here's to Day 4. May it pass without incident.
The best thing I can say about this adventure's next day is this: I've been moved into the what must be the oncology floor's Presidential Suite. Compared to the closet I was living in, this is palatial.
But, it has a downside: can't walk to the bathroom without unplugging my five-wheeled friend, the IV stand.
Small price to pay.
At about 10:30 a.m., the dreaded nausea appeared in a mild form. Fire bells rang in my head and I, who usually try to not bother the nurses, immediately rang for help.
I've made it unremittingly clear—repeating the message as if whacking folks with a sledge hammer—that my greatest fear is suffering unrelenting nausea and vomiting. The good nurse Kelly was immediately in the horn to Dr. O and, voila!, within minutes extra meds were being pumped into me.
Bring it on.
Otherwise the day passes slowly. I've been able to work some in the morning. Afternoons bring with more fatigue. Laina has delivered some dumb-funny DVDs which will hopefully help the p.m. pass more easily.
It's still difficult to get my head around the idea of being here for a month. And then returning several times afterwards. That's more of a commitment to schedule than I've had since I no longer had to do high school, gymnastics and baseball practice car pools for the kids.
I'd trade back for those car pool obligations right now, believe me, no matter how nasty those kids were.
We are now done with the "push" aspect of this treatment—that is, when the one drug is injected directly over a 3-4 minute period. Which, in a way, just means more sitting around with one less landmark in the day, and only my 24-hour med drip to keep me company. Sometimes I look up at it and try to watch its progress, but it moves more slowly than I do, yet not quickly enough to hypnotize or to lull me into sleep.
So, I go back to—whatever.
So, here's to Day 4. May it pass without incident.
Posts
Mitch, it's such a relief to hear your "voice" again in your blog. I wish I knew you personally! Hey Penny, is it OK to send Mitch email xxxxx ?
ReplyDeleteA certain Louise from our HS class had asked me about you. Could this be her?
ReplyDeleteBTW - Medical marijuana is now legal on your side of "the creek". I'm just sayin'.
Are you allowed to smoke medical dope in your hospital room?
ReplyDeleteMitch, we missed you at Hunter Mountain. I wish you were well enough to ski and to do so many things while battling this mean disease. Keep the faith and good luck with day 4+.
ReplyDeleteThanks all. I actually have some "medical" marijuana stashed at home. Last time I smoked it, I didn't much like the effect. So, we're going to stick to prescription drugs right now. Somehow I don't think the staff would like it much if I lit up here in the room.
ReplyDeleteYes - email are welcome: kaplanword@gmail.com.
m
Hi Asher,
ReplyDeleteI'm afraid I'm not your high school Louise, unless you went to a girl's Catholic school in Missoula, Montana. I do agree with your recommendation on the medical weed - maybe once Mitch gets home. Or, there's brownies...
Louise