First, I drink some water and check to see if it's my turn in my online Scrabble games. It is! One opponent has played through the triple word score I had my eye on, leaving an E dangling out there to play on. I have BERRTTU. BRUTE? BUTTER? BUTTERER! What? How can that not be a word? One who butters. "When I grow up, I want to be a better butterer of bread." Hmm... REBUTTER! Bingo!
Off to the treadmill, in my gown and gloves. As I'm getting started, one lens falls out of my glasses. Over the last seven weeks, a screw has gradually loosened. The screw is still there, and the lens is fine, but it's going to be hard to read the Kindle while I run without glasses. But wait... I can increase the font size to the point that I've got about 20 words per page, and it works great. Bingo!
I stop by the nurse station after my workout, to see if they have a tiny screwdriver. They don't, but they think the gift shop sells them, and they can send someone down to get one. I'll sort that out later. I can read and use the computer without glasses, so I'm fine for now.
I stop by the nurse station after my workout, to see if they have a tiny screwdriver. They don't, but they think the gift shop sells them, and they can send someone down to get one. I'll sort that out later. I can read and use the computer without glasses, so I'm fine for now.
Back in my room, I realize I have cut the time too close. It's 8:00, I need to shower, I need to eat breakfast, and I need to start icing my mouth at 8:30. A shower takes 30 minutes: 5 to bag up the ports coming out of my chest; 5 to get wet, because the shower has as much water pressure as a handheld spray bottle; 15 to get the soap off, for the same reason; 5 to dry off with towels barely larger than a hand towel. Another puzzle... Aha! Today, I skip the soap. 15 minutes saved. Bingo!
Breakfast is oatmeal, banana, omelet, grape juice. I finish just in time.
And then the oral ice bath begins. It has been described as a chore that you have to make yourself stick to, but I really like to crunch ice. The only reason I don't do it more is that it's not very convenient. But here, it's as convenient as it can be. When I start running low, I press the red button and get more ice.
The drug itself is delivered quickly, but the side effects can set in over the next several hours. Until 4:00, my nurse tells me.
So, it's mouthful after mouthful of ice, for a total of seven and a half hours. The ice is perfect for crunching: pellets a little larger than jelly beans, lots of air in them. I spice up the day with a few treats: milkshake at 10:00, strawberry-banana smoothie at noon, two ice creams at 2:00. And then it's done. The only side effect was more than hourly trips to the bathroom.
I have a productive day of telecommuting, and the usual visit from the docs. It's not a posse anymore, just an attending and a fellow (I think). I ask about the week after transplant. The attending says the first week is when I may feel the worst. Diarrhea and tiredness are likely, but both typically come and go rather than beat on you all day.
In the afternoon, my nurse starts a new drip. "Have they told you about the Pro-Graft?" No. "Oh. Why don't they tell you these things?" Beats me. From now until I leave the hospital, I will be connected to the pole to receive this anti-rejection drug. I am allowed one 20-minute break per day, so I'll have to figure out when I can take that break and schedule my workout accordingly. I'm still not sure I can shower in 20 minutes, and I can't go with the no-soap option on a regular basis. Maybe they can adjust my water pressure.
My nurse also makes a trip to the gift shop, taking all of my money ($5) with her. It's enough, and I now have functioning glasses. Which could come in handy tonight, since Adrian, volunteer extraordinaire, brought Black Adder Goes Forth.
Expecting a relaxing evening. And tomorrow has nothing scheduled -- no procedures, no chemicals.
Blog upgrade: I added a couple of photos from Mara's donation to the D-Day (Sort Of) post.
And then the oral ice bath begins. It has been described as a chore that you have to make yourself stick to, but I really like to crunch ice. The only reason I don't do it more is that it's not very convenient. But here, it's as convenient as it can be. When I start running low, I press the red button and get more ice.
The drug itself is delivered quickly, but the side effects can set in over the next several hours. Until 4:00, my nurse tells me.
So, it's mouthful after mouthful of ice, for a total of seven and a half hours. The ice is perfect for crunching: pellets a little larger than jelly beans, lots of air in them. I spice up the day with a few treats: milkshake at 10:00, strawberry-banana smoothie at noon, two ice creams at 2:00. And then it's done. The only side effect was more than hourly trips to the bathroom.
I have a productive day of telecommuting, and the usual visit from the docs. It's not a posse anymore, just an attending and a fellow (I think). I ask about the week after transplant. The attending says the first week is when I may feel the worst. Diarrhea and tiredness are likely, but both typically come and go rather than beat on you all day.
In the afternoon, my nurse starts a new drip. "Have they told you about the Pro-Graft?" No. "Oh. Why don't they tell you these things?" Beats me. From now until I leave the hospital, I will be connected to the pole to receive this anti-rejection drug. I am allowed one 20-minute break per day, so I'll have to figure out when I can take that break and schedule my workout accordingly. I'm still not sure I can shower in 20 minutes, and I can't go with the no-soap option on a regular basis. Maybe they can adjust my water pressure.
My nurse also makes a trip to the gift shop, taking all of my money ($5) with her. It's enough, and I now have functioning glasses. Which could come in handy tonight, since Adrian, volunteer extraordinaire, brought Black Adder Goes Forth.
Expecting a relaxing evening. And tomorrow has nothing scheduled -- no procedures, no chemicals.
Blog upgrade: I added a couple of photos from Mara's donation to the D-Day (Sort Of) post.
Black Adder Goes Forth is utterly amazing. I grew up watching Black Adder (back in the day when PBS wasn't faced with a House majority intent on cutting its funding), and then we watched the Goes Forth episode in my WW1 history course in college.
ReplyDeleteAnd, hey, if you ever want a different head dressing you can take a page from Black Adder and don some under pants!
I've heard that the chemo drugs can make the brain feel foggy. But though I'm still somewhat suspicious that you may have succumbed to the Stokholm Syndrome, you certainly don't seem to be suffering from 'chemo brain'! (based anecdotally on your scrabble plays and problem solving)
ReplyDeleteI hope you enjoy your chemo-free D-1!