I debated about how to title this post, actually I still think it needs work. Since I can't settle on one direction, I am going to go with some emotions and feelings that encompass what starting chemo meant for me. Hopefully, with some stories sprinkled in it will make for a good read!
I shall not fear--there is nothing to fear when you are following your heart. I'm not particularly churchy, but I am grateful for the faith that I learned from my parents. I am especially grateful for those who have allowed God into every inch of their lives so that they have words and sights of Him that I have been struggling with lately (Aunt Maria, your texts and words and smiles and prayers make a difference for me daily. If you've added me to your personal or public prayers I am grateful.) I am afraid of where this path is taking me, and how far it will knock me down, and how I will answer when Elizabeth asks why I am crying now..... BUT I at the same time I am not afraid. Tears are healing, doctors are wise (and when they operate as a team they are a mighty force). I have faith that while the path is bumpy and unclear right now, one foot in front of the other is going to work just fine. (I can even say good night prayers with the kids without tears now--"Good night God. I am going to bed. Work is over. Prayers are said. I am not afraid of night. You will watch 'til morning light. Amen"
Laughter makes you smile--even with a giant needle sticking out of your shoulder. So before I explain the laughter side, I suppose I ought to tell about my first chemo experience.
Chemo itself was remarkably unremarkable. An hour before my appointment, I applied my magic cream and covered it with Press-and-Seal. I said a little prayer that I did it right and covered the port properly so that the poke wouldn't hurt. Mom and I arrived at my oncology doctor's office right on time. I was still a bit sore from the port placement/biopsy surgery, but in good spirits and ready to blast the heck out of this cancer. We were called back quickly, and escorted past a row of recliners to room 2 (I will have to ask about the difference between the areas next time, my guess is that the row is for people who have short treatments or don't have company for the day). After I was weighed and blood pressure taken, Nurse Cheryl came in to start my IV. She explained everything she was doing. She cleansed the port area, and she and Mom had a chuckle about iodine. Something about a dropper bottle of it that you would clean your wound with then put the dropper back into the bottle... I felt like a kid, safe, protected. "Now I am going to stabilize the port. (she put her hand firmly around the port) Take a deep breath and relax." Then there was pressure and Cheryl declared the port working. I cried. Hard tears. Ones that I had been holding for a long time. It was nice to feel protected and safe and scared for that moment.
Then it was time to get down to business. She withdrew a syringe of blood that would be tossed and then a second so she could check my blood count. She brought back my copy of the blood count (my white cells, infection fighters, had been low and I was worried that with both kids on antibiotics that I may have been even lower and then this whole battle would be postponed). I was beyond ecstatic that they were up!!! Cheryl started the pre-drugs (4 total) for anti-nausea, they took a little more than an hour to drip in. Then it was time, the Adriamycin was red in color and was put into the IV by hand. With promises of technicolor bathroom breaks, one down one to go. Then the Cytoxan was connected to the IV and another hour of dripping. Easy peasy lemon squeezey.
It was just after the good stuff started that I got a text message. It simply said, "Why did the blonde get fired from the M&M factory?" After thinking for a moment, and knowing that I should know the answer, I replied that I had no idea. "She threw out all the W's." Good for a chuckle, but I have to share that my mom had me rolling in a matter of moments. She didn't get it, I really had to explain it. It had been a tough morning, but with that little joke and a good laugh things seemed to lighten up a little.
I get by with a little help from my friends--This is a long one. I have so many friends in big and small ways that deserve thanks that I'm not even going to feign that I am going to get you all. So no hard feelings, please, it is not intentional. Let's start with the ever close Facebook family. Those of you who click like and offer encouraging words, when the world seems quiet a single click reminds me that there are others out there. Everyone should have friends (well I guess I should really call them colleagues, but it just isn't right) as good as I do. Between the numerous emails of support, the threats of making me go home early, and drive by offers of help (Barry, I may need that one particular offer in the near future) to the forget me not plant that is hopefully getting some sunshine across the hall and fighting its own courageous battle for life; I have truly been blessed with the best staff of friends ever. (I know I say it a lot, but I really mean it!!!) Then there are those that I will never be able to describe my gratitude for properly. Julie and Lisa, your box of chemo treats were a huge treat and reminder to take it easy. (I've finished The Hunger Games.)
Family--Near and far, blood, in-law, tribe..... I think that my favorite family quote from this week is from my Dad, "nothing tougher than a Zupsic." So far, I agree with the assessment. :)
Love doesn’t make the world go round. Love is what makes the ride worthwhile.
Franklin P. Jones
I have to include one last story. I am on an antibiotic to help keep my white blood cell count up called Nupogen. It has to be injected, and Sean has pulled the short straw on being the nurse extraordinaire. Elizabeth decided to be his assistant on his first go round. She promised to hold my hand and then disappeared. Sean needed a calmer environment so we went to the basement (that used to have such a different connotation). I was giving him instructions, when Elizabeth quietly slid her hand into mine. Sean said take a deep breath, I reminded him to go at an angle, and a quick second later it was done. Elizabeth quickly unwrapped a Barbie bandaid and covered the poke on my tummy. "All better?"
Yep, I'm going to be all better soon enough. :)
No comments:
Post a Comment