I had treatment number three last Friday. It was slightly unusual in that they had problems with my port. The first nurse who tried to insert the I.V. tried and failed twice and apparently saw enough blood to inspire her to give up up and call in reinforcements. I guess some nurses are just better at it than others. Thank God I always opt for the lidocaine before they start working the big needle. (I can't believe I just said always like this is the new norm already.) Once they got the needle in, they couldn't draw blood from the port. It's essential that they be able to put things in the port as well as get a blood return from the port. Something about the circulation and adriamycin not sitting around destroying all of my tissues and what not. They concluded the port was clogged. The solution was to inject my port with some enzyme that they compared to Draino (which would not actually surprise me at this point). Then I sat and marinated for an hour and waited for the clog to dissolve. I guess the point is don't be in any hurry when you're scheduled for an infusion. The rest went as expected.
Sometime recently, I saw my physical therapist. I'm making some good progress with my range of motion in my left arm. The thing I love best about my PT is that she does not ask me about my mood. I don't know how many doctors have asked me to rate my mood on a scale from one to ten or indicate my level of distress on a questionnaire according to smiley face, flat face, frowny face, etc. I recognize there is a reason to ask, but I just find it so exasperating. I want to ask, "am I in the right place?". "You do know I have cancer right?" It makes me want to scream, scratch out the faces, draw a picture of my middle finger, tear the paper to shreds, burn it, and stomp up and down on the ashes until I collapse into a pile of hysterical laughter. Instead, I reply, "my mood is stable".
I was at church Sunday when a woman asked me if I'm pregnant. If that doesn't take the cake. Can't a girl have a little post chemo bloating without her family planning coming into question? At least we know I'm heeding my oncologist's orders to keep my weight up during treatment. I continue to eat despite the fact I have no appetite. I'm also taking twice the recommended daily allowance of both Prilosec and laxatives per my oncologist. (Sounds like the right foundation for that eating disorder I mentioned.) In case anyone is wondering, I am under strict orders to not get pregnant. The radiation oncologist (different from the medical oncologist previously referred to as "oncologist") told me that it makes everyone look bad if I have a baby with two heads. Then there is the fact that chemo has sent me into menopause. Assuming I were to come out of menopause after treatment, which is a big maybe, I have to take Tamoxifen for five years after my treatment which is also not compatible with pregnancy. By then I should be around 46. So for the record, there should be no reason to EVER ask me if I am pregnant. For that matter, there should be no reason to ask any woman if she is pregnant unless there is incontrovertible evidence such as the baby is crowning. On the bright side my mother-in-law put a hex on the woman involving the fleas of a thousand camels, nether regions, and short arms. That made me feel considerably better, elevating my mood to a double smiley face.
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