February 27, 2010 – The Infusion Room

Getting started early today. It’s 5:14 am and I’m wide-awake.  Once home yesterday, I took a couple of Bacliphen an hour apart.  They worked, slapped down the hiccups (after an hour and a half), and kicked me into a three-hour nap.  A sweet, deep three-hour nap, the kind from which I wake up gently and easily.

Emailed my doc about the hiccups and Gatorade.  Gatorade seems to be the trigger.  I wondered if I could switch to other liquids and take supplements.  He replied very quickly that my magnesium and potassium blood work have been excellent and suggested trying other liquids for now.  So far, so good.  It’s 5:22 am and I’m a thirsty boy.

I haven’t been having nausea per se.  Last chemo cycle, my stomach did all kinds of weird stuff, talked to me in a foreign language that gave me no clue what I supposed to do.  So, I had a two-week tummy ache.  Ann suggested that less might be better.  So, other than Emend, I’m not taking the anti-nausea meds, which pull my stomach in opposite directions.  So now, my stomach says very clearly “I’m hungry.  Feed me Boy” and since I understand I can reply “Hang on there for a few more paragraphs, the mind has first spot in the body queue.”  Stomach says, “Ain’t that always the way unless there’s a chocolate pudding pie sitting in front of you?”  And I say, “Chocolate pudding pie?  Where?  What you doing to me?”  But the mind, ever smarter than the stomach, takes over and takes me back to the Infusion Room.

The chemo treatment is easy, especially with the port.  I feel good as the fluids flow in (other than having to pee every 10 minutes) but know the next two weeks will have their challenging days (and hours.)  At yesterday’s infusion, there was a woman accompanied by her husband in the next chair (shades of the barber shop only with People Magazine instead of comics!) who had a painful time getting a good IV in.  Again.  Her nurse suggested a port. Ann talked to her husband and I showed him my dual Power Port, explained how easy it went in (a visit to pre-op, a nice nap, minimal pain afterwards), and that it was in use the next day.  Later, on one of my potty breaks, I showed it to the wife and answered her questions.  She wasn't looking happy about her IV connection.  And agreed that a little nap for a port might be a better solution.  So maybe, I returned a favor others have given me as I go when they have been.  That means you my fellow riders on this roller coaster, but also my patient partners I meet at the elevators, in infusion chairs next to mine, at the next table in the cafeteria.  It is powerful how people endure and battle cancer with such positive and uplifting attitudes.  I'm proud to be a member of this club.  The secret handshake is a big smile and a warm welcome.

It’s 5:36 am and my stomach has been patient.  Time to (quietly) hit the kitchen.  Will pick this up later.  Dan is coming to visit.  Hooray!

Back up at 9:00 am.  It’s snowing and all the trees and bushes are dusted.  Pretty way to start the day a second time.  Feeling up and strong, went and rode the LIfeCycle for 12 minutes.  Found a better way to position the 5FU pump so my pedaling and the bag didn’t fight.

Dan is coming to visit this afternoon (repeating myself) as are Jesse & Susan.  Afterwards, I’m betting on a nice midday nap.  Naps are wonderful.  Why did we fight them as kids?  Is it a sign of wisdom that we now seek an afternoon sleep?  Let’s go with wisdom!

Love…

Richard