Yesterday's chemo is this morning's sleeplessness

I work up at 3 this morning, I assume because I forgot to take my post-steroid sleeping pill last night. I decided to get up when I awoke, thinking "I can get a lot done!"

That's just the steroids talking.

I had my sixth of 12 chemos yesterday. When I arrived after my brief visit with the Advanced Registered Nurse Practitioner (my Oncologist wasn't in), I headed over to the Infusion Center and checked in. The reception staff told me I was in a two-bed room, by the door.

I strolled down the hall, satchel and crochet bag in hand, looking forward to working on my cancer comforter and finishing listening to Midnight in the Garden of Good and Evil. When I got to my room, there was a bag of lung cancer chemo on my table and an elderly woman hooked up to poison in the bed by the window. She was napping.

I got set up, adjusted the bed, and looked at my neighbor for signs of wakefulness. Her television was on and she was not watching House.

The Charge Nurse came in and got the IV going in my port. It's always a little scary to see that big-ass needle coming toward me and the *pop* sound when it punctures my skin.

She turned the volume down on my neighbor's television, thank goodness. One of my pet peeves is being held hostage to the noise of my chemo mates' television sounds.

While she was arranging the tubes and checking my blood pressure, I told my RN that I used to work in a psychiatric hospital. She told me about working at Western State Hospital (sign of the times that a state-run psychiatric hospital is reviewed on yelp) during her RN training. While there, she worked with WWII vets that relived the war every day in that dreadful place, and she felt useless. She said she struggled with coming up with something to write in her reports at the end of the day. She paused in her talk with me to wordlessly recall what it was like, and then said that she could have written about her ineffectiveness, and wondered out loud if that would have been helpful.

She left. My neighbor woke up when her cell phone rang. She thrashed around a bit, never did get to her phone but managed to start her drip machine beeping. Her IV was hooked up to her arm, not a port, and many times while I was there she did something to start the beeping.

She began talking to me, and I learned that she was 80, that she'd been diagnosed with lung cancer a few years ago, had a portion of a lung removed and was okay until they found cancer in the other lung. Her husband died one month ago, and she had been his primary caregiver. She was glad he "went first" because she believed she could give him better care than anyone else while he was declining due to "the Alzheimers". He never understood that she had cancer, and if she told him about it, he forgot right away.

As she moved around, her machine would beep a bit and then stop when she repositioned her arm.

She told me each of the key points in her life more than once, so I didn't listen much to my audio book at first. We talked about crocheting, and then the ball of yarn rolled off my bed and under hers. We were both hooked up to our IVs and I would have been fine with leaving the yarn on the floor, knowing that I'd be able to use it still and retrieve it when I was unhooked.

She horrified me by leaning all the way out of her bed to reach under it and retrieve the ball of yarn. I told her it was unnecessary, but there was no stopping her. She was a tiny thing, and I wondered what I would say to the nursing staff when they came in and saw her in a heap on the floor, upside down, her IV beeping like mad, having reached for an errant ball of black wool yarn. I assumed "I asked her not to!" wouldn't do much to excuse my not stopping her. 

She managed to get the yarn and throw it to me and said "I can still throw!" I was impressed.

She told me about her family, her three sons and her 18 grandchildren. She spoke fondly of a granddaughter that was the only one she'd let go wig-shopping with her. Like, me, she only wears her wig for special occasions. Unlike me, she's worn hers. My occasions haven't been special enough yet.

One of her sons showed up, and she introduced us. Once she was settled in again, he turned on Fox News. I understand that this station is popular, but I have to confess I've never actually seen anyone watching it. This is one of my flaws - not letting it really sink in that so many of my fellow Americans actually watch it, though statistically I know it to be fact. At least I didn't literally allow my jaw to drop, though it did figuratively.

I showed them my politics by plugging in my audio book and resuming crocheting. The book ended, Fox News did not, so I started listening to some Ray Bradbury.

My chemo finished and my machine started beeping. I saw some scrambling out of the corner of my eye and told my neighbors that this time it was me.

My nurse unhooked me and I went on my merry way after packing up my scattered belongings and wishing my neighbors good health. I was tired. I wasn't as relaxed as I have been the times when I'm able to be absorbed by a book and have some success with whatever I'm crocheting.

I drove home and crawled into my husband's lap, which is my cancer treatment safe harbor.

*******

Prior to chemo, I visited the newest member of the family, my great-nephew. I was able to spend a few hours with he and his mother, despite his clearly being alarmed at my being bald.

*******

Today my friend and coworker Jennifer's coming by to tattoo my head. I'm considering having this be the last one. When I first asked my artist friends to do these henna tattoos, I bought three kits from a shop in Ballard. When I was rung up at the cash register I almost gasped at the cost, but proceeded without saying anything. This is another flaw of mine, not wanting to offend a cashier. I blame my parents for their pounding into me extreme politeness, which those who know me will be surprised to hear. I blame myself for not getting this lesson straight. Part of the flaw is that I'm extremely polite at the wrong times.

So I'm almost out of henna, though I have enough for today.

Last week Jennifer showed me her sketchbook, and what she's thinking of drawing on my head. I admire people who can sketch. As anyone knows who's seen my art, I haven't moved much beyond stick figures.

*******

Since I woke so early this morning, I decided to try out my cheap fake eyelashes and wig, whose fakeness goes without stating.

 

I ended up looking like Doris Day, which doesn't appeal to me at all.
 

Her movies with Rock Hudson creeped me out when I was little.

So I decided to try them as eyebrows.

 

Not so good, either, so I tried them as bangs.  

Moving on quickly, I tried them as hair.

"A" for effort!