Ok, People. It's on. The Race to the End. The Light at the End of the Tunnel. The Point of No Return. (Well, that last one doesn't really apply, but you get the drift.) Let me be clear: the chemo continues, but the numbers are so damn good, you can't help but be excited. I am.
HCG holding steady at 2.0! Didn't tick down to register a <2 on the lab scale. But according to two high powered oncologists 2.0 is good enough for government work. I'm not about to ask for more chemo. All the other labs: red, white and blue - er, I mean, platelets, were fine. We are on a roll. And if my producer Ronda has anything to do with it, we're on a Keiser Roll. (Her mom didn't put an H in her first name, which has plagued her all her life. But her husband's family doesn't quite spell Keiser right to be a roll. At this point though, we'll let that slide.)
I'm having interesting reactions to the upcoming chemo treatments. I think, thus far, I've maintained my upbeat attitude. Maybe it's the fact that we're nearly done that makes me complain about them more now. This week was the one long treatment. The morning starts at 7:45am when Marcia and I do our Wednesday morning routine. Bloodwork, Bagels then Chemo. Kristen, the chemo nurse, hangs a whole lot of bags on that pole on the long days. The only one I really care about is the Benadryl. It's hysterical how totally loopy I get. If smoking pot is anything like that, I can understand why people get high. It doesn't give me the munchies but I definitely go a little crazy and then promptly fall asleep. This day just keeps going though, so by the time Deb, my special guest yesterday, drops me off at home, we're pushing 4 o'clock and I need another nap.
The day before treatments, I'm now having these terrible waves of nausea. I can feel my throat closing off the way it does before you are going to yack. This is out of the blue on Tuesdays. Just the thought of the drugs coming the next day gives me a physical reaction. My friend Adam smartly remarked, you're not eating the chemo, why are you nauseous. Good point, Adam, good point. I don't know, but it's annoying. Goes to show you it's all psycho-sematic (is that how you spell it?) Mind over matter, except in this case my mind is taking over before I have a reason to have something the matter!
I'm almost relieved to get hooked up Wednesday morning. Every hour I'm there is another hour down. But yesterday, I was marking the quarter hours ... with a trip to the bathroom. It. Was. So. Annoying. There is this one drug they give me on the long infusion days, Cisplatin. It's so bad for you that when you body filters it and parts of the drug sit in your bladder, it burns the lining of your bladder. Eats right through it. So doctors couple this drug with a diuretic (spelling again?) to make you go to the bathroom regularly. The more you pee the less time the drug sits in your bladder making unnecessary holes. Not a bad concept unless you have to get up every 30 seconds.
Usually I wait until I'm about to float to the bathroom. Most days I get up every half hour. Yesterday, no rest for the weary. All I wanted to do was enjoy my Bendryl induced sleep and here I am ready to wet myself. Isnt' Cancer glamorous? No kidding, every 15 minutes. I thought I should just barricade myself in the John, bring my book in with me(the second in the 50 Shades of Grey series - total smut) and sit there for the whole infusion. Two problems, I'd be hogging up the rest room and the Barcalounger chair is so much more comfortable than the porcelain throne.
Plus, and this is the real kicker, there's a minor seam leading into the bathroom. You know, like a rubber strip between the two parts of the floor. No big deal if your walking to the bathroom, BIG fucking deal if you're wheeling your friendly chemo pole in there every 15 minutes. It's like a god damn speed bump. You know the kind of speed bumps they put in residential neighborhoods that people use as cut throughs? Like that kind of unnecessary, annoying speed bump. I practically have to carry the pole over it. Really? I've been sick since February, have exactly no muscle tone left (haven't used the Shake Weight all year, but normally Mary Beth Filling and I are big fans!) and here I am, hauling large equipment in the bathroom. If Kristen doesn't name the Chemo Lounge the Meredith Cooke Memorial Gossip Lounge, the least I'm going to have her do is put a ramp over the speed bump into the bathroom. Geez!
