Last weekend I was wondering about the word "yesterday". What's a "yester"? Ends up it means "other".
I had chemotherapy yesterday. My second treatment. I walked from the International District to Fourth and Pike. It was nice to stretch my legs a bit. I'm not getting much exercise.
I then caught the 43 up to Capitol Hill with the usual hacking, coughing and sneezing members of the public.
My hair is definitely, undeniably falling out. I washed it yesterday morning, and there was a lot left in the tub after I got out of the shower. I put some gel in my hair, and after washing my hands, there was a little nest of hair (perfect for a hummingbird) in the drain screen.
I cannot adequately describe how fascinating and scary this was at first.
At work, I decided to have some fun. I approached a few coworkers who I like to bother and asked if they wanted to see my latest trick. They had to say yes because... I have cancer! I ran my hand through my hair and pulled some out to show them. This was especially gratifying when one my coworkers was about to eat a particularly delicious-looking lunch from Salumi's. This guy loves his pig.
Later, the CEO passed me on the stairs and asked how I was doing. "Good!"
I did not show her my new trick.
I am inspired by my cousin Carrie's experience with hair loss, and what she did with her hair as it fell out.
I had chemotherapy yesterday. My second treatment. I walked from the International District to Fourth and Pike. It was nice to stretch my legs a bit. I'm not getting much exercise.
I then caught the 43 up to Capitol Hill with the usual hacking, coughing and sneezing members of the public.
My hair is definitely, undeniably falling out. I washed it yesterday morning, and there was a lot left in the tub after I got out of the shower. I put some gel in my hair, and after washing my hands, there was a little nest of hair (perfect for a hummingbird) in the drain screen.
I cannot adequately describe how fascinating and scary this was at first.
At work, I decided to have some fun. I approached a few coworkers who I like to bother and asked if they wanted to see my latest trick. They had to say yes because... I have cancer! I ran my hand through my hair and pulled some out to show them. This was especially gratifying when one my coworkers was about to eat a particularly delicious-looking lunch from Salumi's. This guy loves his pig.
Later, the CEO passed me on the stairs and asked how I was doing. "Good!"
I did not show her my new trick.
I am inspired by my cousin Carrie's experience with hair loss, and what she did with her hair as it fell out.
When my husband and I first met, we both had long red hair. His was natural, mine was hennaed (I figured my also having red hair would increase the chances of our having red-headed babies). At some point, we both cut our hair and I saved the hanks. I've used a little bit of both; his I crocheted into a blanket and mine I felted into some art.
As I alternated yesterday between revulsion and fascination with my hair falling out, by the end of the day I decided I would save my hair as it comes out by brushing it frequently and catching the hair in my brush. I'm not a spinner and my hair is short, so I won't make a ball of yarn. What I can do though is make some felt out of it by adding sheeps' wool. Thinking about this will give me, as Cousin Carrie said, "a sense of control..."
Funny how feeling like I have some control over this craziness helps.
When I got to the clinic yesterday for my second chemo tratment, I had to stop at the pharmacy to get some Lydocaine cream for my chest port. I took a number and waited with all the other people, though I sat some distance off. I looked at the number and calculated how long I had to wait. I browsed an old People magazine and caught up on what Celine and Jennifer were doing last February. I listened as an automated voice announced the next number to be waited on by the pharmacists. I had to look at the numbered paper repeatedly to remember what number I had. After the fifth time looking and worrying I had somehow morphed in the main character in Memento, I made a determined effort to remember the damned thing and not have to look at it again.
Even though the side-effects of my first chemo treatment a little over two weeks ago had been relatively benign, I was still stressed about the second one.
I headed to the lab for a blood draw. I forgot I was supposed to go the infusion center to have my blood drawn through the chest port, and went to the lab instead. In the future, when I go to the infusion center for the draw, they'll put the IV in the port, draw the blood and leave the IV in until and while I get the chemo.
I then met with my oncologist and the Nursigator. They told me my blood levels looked good. I could see from the print out that my white blood cell count is down, and the Nursigator reminded me that I should expect fatigue as the treatment continues. As the Oncologist left, he told me "Merry Channukah!" The Nursigator and I laughed.
I headed over to the Oncology Infusion Center and got settled in. The Nurse de Jour was Emily from Texas. She wiped down took off the bandagey-thing with Lydocaine on it from the chest port and cleaned the area up. The contraption she was going to inject into the chest port was wierd-enough-looking that I turned my head. She was going to be plugging that thing into a catheter that goes straight to my heart.
She told me to take a deep breath and there was a big crash and a bang and I fell out of the comfy chair.
Just kidding.
My first infusion was three huge syringes of red stuff. I suck on ice while I'm getting it because it's the nasty one that causes mouth sores. Ice causes the capillaries in my mouth to contract and thus, hopefully, I'll have fewer sores later. The RN has to inject it manually. It takes about ten minutes.
While she was giving me the red poison, she casually asked me if my feet had been sore. Holy cow! How did she know that I had been thinking the day before how odd it was that my heels were sore?
She told me that's a side effect of the red stuff. First time I'd heard this. All these important snippets of information that are mentioned so casually and randomly by the medical staff help to make sense of oddities. They should have a document they hand out that lists all of them, so the chemo patient can be as informed as possible.
My husband arrived about 15 minutes before I was done. He spent an hour in the pharmacy after taking a number from the ticket machine. He told me that next time, he's taking two numbers. Right before his number is called, others there will have been waiting almost as long as he. He says he's going keep an eye on who just arrived and took a ticket, and try to sell the spare ticket in his possession, which will allow the recipient to pass "GO", collect $200 and head straight to the pharmacy window.
As I alternated yesterday between revulsion and fascination with my hair falling out, by the end of the day I decided I would save my hair as it comes out by brushing it frequently and catching the hair in my brush. I'm not a spinner and my hair is short, so I won't make a ball of yarn. What I can do though is make some felt out of it by adding sheeps' wool. Thinking about this will give me, as Cousin Carrie said, "a sense of control..."
Funny how feeling like I have some control over this craziness helps.
When I got to the clinic yesterday for my second chemo tratment, I had to stop at the pharmacy to get some Lydocaine cream for my chest port. I took a number and waited with all the other people, though I sat some distance off. I looked at the number and calculated how long I had to wait. I browsed an old People magazine and caught up on what Celine and Jennifer were doing last February. I listened as an automated voice announced the next number to be waited on by the pharmacists. I had to look at the numbered paper repeatedly to remember what number I had. After the fifth time looking and worrying I had somehow morphed in the main character in Memento, I made a determined effort to remember the damned thing and not have to look at it again.
Even though the side-effects of my first chemo treatment a little over two weeks ago had been relatively benign, I was still stressed about the second one.
I headed to the lab for a blood draw. I forgot I was supposed to go the infusion center to have my blood drawn through the chest port, and went to the lab instead. In the future, when I go to the infusion center for the draw, they'll put the IV in the port, draw the blood and leave the IV in until and while I get the chemo.
I then met with my oncologist and the Nursigator. They told me my blood levels looked good. I could see from the print out that my white blood cell count is down, and the Nursigator reminded me that I should expect fatigue as the treatment continues. As the Oncologist left, he told me "Merry Channukah!" The Nursigator and I laughed.
I headed over to the Oncology Infusion Center and got settled in. The Nurse de Jour was Emily from Texas. She wiped down took off the bandagey-thing with Lydocaine on it from the chest port and cleaned the area up. The contraption she was going to inject into the chest port was wierd-enough-looking that I turned my head. She was going to be plugging that thing into a catheter that goes straight to my heart.
She told me to take a deep breath and there was a big crash and a bang and I fell out of the comfy chair.
Just kidding.
My first infusion was three huge syringes of red stuff. I suck on ice while I'm getting it because it's the nasty one that causes mouth sores. Ice causes the capillaries in my mouth to contract and thus, hopefully, I'll have fewer sores later. The RN has to inject it manually. It takes about ten minutes.
While she was giving me the red poison, she casually asked me if my feet had been sore. Holy cow! How did she know that I had been thinking the day before how odd it was that my heels were sore?She told me that's a side effect of the red stuff. First time I'd heard this. All these important snippets of information that are mentioned so casually and randomly by the medical staff help to make sense of oddities. They should have a document they hand out that lists all of them, so the chemo patient can be as informed as possible.
My husband arrived about 15 minutes before I was done. He spent an hour in the pharmacy after taking a number from the ticket machine. He told me that next time, he's taking two numbers. Right before his number is called, others there will have been waiting almost as long as he. He says he's going keep an eye on who just arrived and took a ticket, and try to sell the spare ticket in his possession, which will allow the recipient to pass "GO", collect $200 and head straight to the pharmacy window.
Fascinating. Were you watching t.v.? The Real Housewives can be quite distracting.
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