You ever tried to do a comb-over with your eyelashes? It's really really really difficult and requires a steady hand good eyesight, neither of which I have.
I don't normally wear mascara, but it does make me look a little better.
Well, it did until my eyelashes started falling out.
*******
I came across an article about transit and all the hackers, wheezers, coughers, sneezers and snifflers that I ride it with:
"The relationship between public transport use and acquisition of acute respiratory infection (ARI) is not well understood but potentially important during epidemics and pandemics."
I know! I know! Tell me about it! Chemo has made me a mask-and-hand-sanitizer carrying germaphobe.
My satchel is like a Bartell's mobile unit, and I look forward to the time when I don't have to haul it around. It currently holds:
- Masks
- Lidocaine and clear bandages to numb my chest port one hour before treatment
- Hand sanitizer
- Tissues
- Anti-nausea pills
- Tampons (chemo has sped up menopause, so I don't need them anymore, but I'm hanging on to them to remind myself of the 40 years of menstruation that I always hated and never quite mastered, i.e. the good ol' days before cancer)
- A light hat to wear when I'm not comfortable going bald
*******
This morning I took a bus from the International District to downtown via the tunnel, then caught the #10 up to Capitol Hill. The bus to Capitol Hill was packed, and I learned that I should put my mask on before I get on the bus. It was SRO and I couldn't put one on while the bus was moving.
I love the granite in the Downtown Seattle Transit Tunnel, though its provenance caused a furor when it was first installed.
*******
Today was my first Taxol treatment.
An hour prior, I had my blood drawn in one of the chemo chairs.
Here's the paraphanalia for getting blood out of this turnip's chest port.
And here's what the paraphanalia looks like after the blood draw.
Here's the thingy that goes into the chest port and feeds the nasty meds into an artery. An RN preps the site and shoves a HUGE needle into the port. I'm then sent on my way to wait an hour for my meeting with my Oncologist.
I took a walk around Capitol Hill while the lab eyeballed my blood samples. When I met with my Oncologist, he reminded me of the fact that I was starting Taxol, and said some of my blood levels were low. After talking about it for a while, we agreed to go ahead with the Taxol today, and to have me do another round of those wonderful shots.
Dammit.
He talked about side effects from Taxol, and the one he wants to pay particular attention to is neuropathy. He said it's more likely to occur as treatment progresses, and recommended I take Glutamine, which the Naturopath also recommended.
The spouse arrived and we headed over to the Infusion Center.
While the side effects may be less severe than the awful AC I was on until a few weeks ago, there was a small chance of an allergic reaction. As a result, the first infusion required my RN, a crash cart and a respiratory therapist. And a bed. No chemo chair.
Here's me, waiting in the bed.
Here's the RN preparing the test run.
The Respiratory Therapist came in and entertained us. He told us he had a new joke:
What did the doe say when she came out of the woods?
"I'll never do that again for two bucks."
I passed the Taxol test with flying colors. The RN turned the drip on "11" and gave me the full dose. While the drip dripped, the spouse and I talked about a trip we're planning to Iceland, when treatment's done and I have a few months to get back into some kind of healthy shape.
He browsed flight prices and lodging reviews in Reykjavik. I crocheted.
When the drip was done, I was unhooked from the chemo and sent on my way. We moseyed down to the pharmacy to get my meds, and then headed home.
I now get to observe how this new cocktail affects me.
I am curious to see what happens.
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