This might end up being a shorter update. Spent most of the day either asleep or laying down.
No chemo today, which is nice. But that simply means all the chemo is in me and working both its magic and evil. The last few days I’ve been awake and out of my bed but this morning I stayed in bed til about noon. Granted, I had plenty of people coming in and out of the room, but I fell back asleep as soon as people walked out. Monday is Lindsey’s normal workday, so she wasn’t here for most of the day. She did stop by after work so we could spend some time together. I find my fingers trying to cobble a few words together on this laptop but my head is bent over and my eyes are drooping. We’ll see how much my mind gets out.
Change of Shift
At 7am and 7pm you will see clinical staff gather for change of shift. They will tell you the intended purpose is to share medical information about the patients they are caring for, but we know that’s all contained in the EMR so they don’t really need to share. What they are really doing is plotting strategy. You see, they know they are outnumbered. There are 24 hours in the day and 25 patients on the unit. Staff must gather together and carefully plan out how they will enter a patient room with such regularity that sleep becomes difficult. They sit back at the nurse’s station coyly plotting for one person to go in for vitals, then another 30 minutes later to give meds. Dietary knocks on the door soon after to take your food order and of course the doctors feel the odd need to round as well. Then they get tricky. PT stops by, sometimes RT. There’s more vitals to be taken and just when you think everyone who has been through who can be, they’ve covertly set your IV fluids to end so your IV pump begins its incessant beeping. Rumor has it they can also remotely cause the pumps to occlude. I haven’t figured out how to deadbolt the door yet, but I’m working on it.
When you are battling cancer there are big decisions and little decisions. Big decisions like…Where do I get treated? Who should my doctor be? What is the right treatment plan? How will my family be without me? What can I do that I am not doing to get better? There are also little decisions. One of those little decisions stares me in the face every day. As you might recall, I pee a lot. That means I’m in the bathroom a lot and when I wash my hands, I’m staring at myself in the mirror. I probably look in the mirror more than a teenage girl with kleenex stuffed in her bra. And when I look in the mirror, there it is. The nose hair. Now I don’t have any grooming tools with me. Didn’t really think I would need them. So I stare at the nose hair and it stares back. The question is, do I pluck it or just let the chemo take care of it? I could try to pluck it, but that will hurt and I’m going to have enough pain as it is. Unfortunately, I doubt they’ll push some Dilaudid into me just so I can pull a nose hair out. So there the hair sits. Neither one of us flinching. Guess the chemo will have to make it fall out.
Speaking of Urine
To borrow a phrase from the last time around, I was brewing some tea yesterday. One of the chemo’s I get causes my urine to turn red. Not like if the Kool-Aid man was peeing kinda red, but definitely something that would make you pause if you hadn’t just received a dose of chemo. I’d say I had a mild tea color yesterday (unsweetened of course). Today things are clearing up a bit more.
Pee Fact of the Night
I’m not sure how many times I got up between 11pm and 5am, but I do know they emptied 2.5 liters of pee out of my pee jugs. Hopefully tonight isn’t as busy…
And the Powerball Numbers Are:
Ok, I lied yesterday. My numbers didn’t go down, but ticked back up. Apparently that’s the steroids. The counts will go down. I’ve been promised that.
And while we are correcting misinformation, I received a copy of my preliminary bone marrow biopsy report. The blast level in my marrow was actually 63% and my peripheral blood had 2% blasts. I’ve been told the numbers don’t actually matter too much and my prognosis is still the same.
A Duck Dynasty Prayer
Father God, take me into your arms tonight. Help me to sleep. Help me to rest. Help my body to fight and for the chemo to work. Thank you for the hands that support me. For the prayers that are lifted up. Thank you for those that take care of me and for those who take care of them. May your name be recognized in all of this. I thank you for another day.