Chemo Angles: Chpt 29

Between my cancer and 9/11 my children were under a lot of stress. So Mark and I decided that instead of a babysitter picking them up from school and staying with them while he took me to my first chemo treatment, that he would get them at school and I would have a friend take me to the hospital. So I asked my co-worker and good friend Alison to take me.
I didn’t know what was in store for me at the chemo center so I needed someone there that I could depend on. Someone who was mentally strong and would be able to help me get through whatever it was that was going to happen, the first name that came to mind was Alison.
Alison, Alison, Alison, how do I describe Alison, a woman who stands a little over 5feet tall and is a bundle of energy. She is a talented artist, with an artist's soul. She has a slight southern accent, a dazzling smile and a kind word for everyone. Because of her height (or lack of it) people sometimes try to take advantage of her, and that is always a big mistake. Alison is the mother of three teenage boys, so she has been there and seen that, anyone who thinks that they can get one over on her is mistaken.
One time when we was only the two of us working in the library, we heard a loud thump or two on the wall behind us. I couldn’t figure out what the noise was, but Alison knew. The room behind us was the men’s bathroom and the noise was the sound of bodies hitting the wall. There was a fight going on in the men’s room and I didn’t know what to…Alison did. She marched over to the men’s room door and starting banging on it yelling.
“WHAT’S GOING ON IN THERE?” The fighting stopped.
“ NOTHING!!!” Someone yelled. Then the two teenage boys came out of the men’s room and quickly left the library. Problem solved, I was impressed. I needed someone like this who was quick thinking to help me through my first treatment.
We drove to the hospital and park the car where I usually park, Alison didn’t want me to walk the distance between the parking lot and the cancer center, but I told her that I enjoyed the walk. Anyway I wanted to show her how funny the hospital entrance was. The entrance is set on a circular driveway, with a constant flow of cars picking up and dropping off people. The thing that always struck me funny me was how the front of the hospital was always littered with people standing around doing one of two things; Smoking or talking on a cell phone. Neither activity is permitted in the hospital, so the main entrance (and many other doors) had all theses people standing around smoking and/or talking. I found it funny to see so many people smoking at the entrance of a hospital. I must not have been the only person who noticed all those smokers because sometime in the year 2002 the hospital made the front of the hospital a “NO SMOKING” zone. Now if they could do something about those cell phones.
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I had asked Alison if she would mind staying in the waiting room while I had my treatment? I didn’t know what was going to happen or how I was going to react, and I didn’t want Alison to see me acting like a baby. I also didn’t want to be in the position of having to entertain her. Alison said that she was ok with that, being a librarian she brought a book. I checked in and we hung out briefly before I was called. It was nice to have someone there with me I enjoyed the company.
They took some blood then sent me to the treatment room. Alison went to the treatment room with me to help get me settled. Eva greeted us as we walked in to the room and she guided us to the other side of the nurse’s station, the part of the room that I couldn’t see on my first visit. It was an interesting sight; there was a row of blue chairs along a long wall of windows. The room was bright and the chairs look convertible. Eva told me to sit wherever I wanted. I noticed that there was a TV at each end of the row of chairs; both TV’s were showing news programs. I really didn’t want to watch 9/11 coverage while I was having poison put into my body. I chose a chair in the middle of the row.
Alison sat across from me. I sat there kind-of dumb struck while Alison was making friends with the people on each side of me. To my left was an older man getting chemo, he looked like he was sleeping, his wife was sitting next to him knitting. On my right was a man about my age, he was reading a book. Alison said hi to each of them (did I mention that Alison was very friendly), the guy to my left was too tired to talk, he just gave a kind-of wave. But the guy to my right was very chatty. It was amazing to watch them, she asked the guy what kind a cancer he had and how was his treatment going. He started telling her his whole cancer story.
Alison is a great listener, and she knows which questions to ask, then actually listens to the answer, she should have been a reporter. Anyway the man told us that he had bone cancer, and the he had been in and out of the hospital for the last year. His cancer was so bad that he had to stay in the hospital while they gave him his first chemo treatments. The treatment was the 24/7 kind for I forgot how many days he said he was in the hospital. It sounded terrible, he said it was, but he though that the worst was over, until today.
He still needed out-patient chemo treatments like I was getting, the problem was…the type of chemo he needed was flown in everyday from Florida and all the planes were still grounded. So the nurses were giving him some substitute treatment until the planes were flying again. It strange, you would think living in a small town in New Jersey that a terrorist attack in New York City would little if no effect on you, yet it did. The world is so inter-connected that when something happens in one place it affects the strangest things in another place.
Eva came back caring two needles, a small one with a shunt type thing and a huge needle (about six inches long) and Alison and I knew that it was time for her to leave…I wish that I was going with her. That first think Eva did was look for a vein, she told me that it was very important that she find the right one because if my vein burst while there is chemo in it, my arm would feel like it was burning and it would be very painful. I told her to take her time.
As Eva looked for a vein she said…
“Nervous?”
“Yes, why do you ask?”
“When a person is nervous the veins contract, you are making my job harder.” She said with a smile in her voice.
“Sorry.” It took a while but she finally was able to get the shunt placed in my vein properly. The shunt is the same thing that is put into your hand when you are in the hospital so that you can be hooked up to the IV bottle, and different liquids can be injected in to you body with out you having to get a new shot each time. Next Eva hooked up the huge needle to the shunt and then put the needle in for the lack of a better word I call it a little machine. It was wild; the machine pushed the non-sharp end of the needle so that there was a constant amount of liquid entering my vein. It was cool to watch.
“That liquid entering your body is a combination of steroids and anti-vomit medicine. The machine will beep when you are done or if something comes unhooked, I’ll be back in a few minutes.” It didn’t hurt, in fact I didn’t feel anything, so with my one good hand I put my headset on and turned on my tape player to listen to Martin Cruse Smith’s “Havana Bay”. Arkady Renko has left the cold of Moscow for hot sun and Spanish rhythms of Cuba when an old friend is found dead… The tape ended and I tried to replace it with the next tape but I couldn’t get the second tape out of the box with only one hand. I was about to give up with the wife of the sleeping patient next to me came over and helped me switch the tapes, then she went back to her knitting and I went back to Cuba. …The heat of the sun, the sent of the sea and Arkady meets a beautiful policewoman who will help him with his investigation. Another murder…a secret meeting and …Beep …Beep…Beep…The machine stopped pushing, the needle was empty. Eva came walking over holding four or five syringes of various sizes.
“I didn’t bring all the needles over at once because I didn’t want to scare you.”
“Well, you’re scaring me now.” I said staring at all the needles in her hand, if I wasn’t strapped down I would have been running out the door. Eva sat down in front of me, placing all the syringes on a small tray, she then removed the needle filled with the steroids from the little machine and disconnected it from my shunt.
“Now comes the fun part.” She said “I will inject the chemo in to you myself.”
Unlike the steroids that can be steadily administered by an IV type machine, the chemo needs a thinking person behind the injection. Eva explained that the large needle that was filled with red liquid was the actual chemotherapy and it had to be administered slowly. If it was injected too fast the vain could burst or could be damaged so it was important that we worked as a team, she slowly injecting the chemo and I telling her if it start to burn (which it did sometimes).
“Before we start this, what kind of Popsicle would you like?” I know that asking about Popsicle’s at a time like this may seem strange, but there really is a medical reason for the question. Studies have found that eating a Popsicle during a chemo session will reduce mouth sores. Really.
“Red” I said “I like red popsicle’s.” After Eva injected some of the chemo she would remove the needle from the shunt, then inject some of the clear liquid that was in one of the many smaller syringes. This was some kind of saline solution that was designed to help the move the chemo along in the veins. So a little red liquid, then a little clear liquid back and forth…back and forth… this process took about a hour, so we spent that time talking. We chatted a little bit about the history of chemotherapy.
“I read somewhere” My most frequent opening line “that modern chemotherapy was discovered after a ship was sunk during WWII.”
“Your right” she said giving me a smile. “Not many people know that.”
The origin of chemotherapy can be traced back to December 2, 1943. It was on this date that the "Tragedy of Bari, Italy" accrued. According to www.history.mil.com it was on this date that the Germans attacked Bari where British and American ships were anchored. By the time the raid ended 17 ships were sunk and six damaged. What dose WWII ships have to do with chemo? Plenty.
One of those ships was "The John Harvey" whose cargo was mustard gas. The Allies wanted the gas in Europe to use-if-the Germans used the gas first. Poisonous gas was first used in modern warfare by the Germans during WWI. The Germans started in 1915 with a chlorine gas, then they invented mustard gas. These chemicals were horrible weapons and the Allies were only going to use them in 1943 if the Germans used them first.
Anyway, when the John Harvey sunk most of "gas" was blown off-shore. But some of the "gas" was held in solution oil form, which floated on the water exposing many of the men to this, liquid from of the mustard gas. Of the 800 casualties hospitalized that day 628 of the men suffered from exposure to the mustard gas, with 69 of the deaths blamed whole or part of being exposed to the gas. Thats right-the weapon that were going to use on the Germans ended up killing Brits and Americans sailors.
Now this would have just been another deadly battle of a deadly war except when the exposed servicemen were being treated in the hospital someone noticed these men showed marrow and lymphatic suppression, what ever that is-and this suppression stuff caught the attention of some guys at Yale. Now, according to www.lymphomainfo.net/hodgkins/timeline.html a mustard gas derivative called nitrogen mustard was submitted by some guys named Good and Gilman for treatment for Hodgkin's disease and lymphosarcoma. Up to this point chemotherapy was something called "The Fowler's solution" which was arsenic containing medicinal. By 1947 my lymphomainfo web suite said "Alpert and Petersen published results of Nitrogen Mustard showing sticking dissolution of tumor masses in patients with Hodgkin's Disease and lymphosarcoma." And the rest is history-I love knowing stuff like that.
Back at the chemo center Eva and I told each other funny stories about our kids, she made me laugh all while gently injecting first the red, then the clear. As we talked I found myself looking at all the angles pins that were pined on her lab coat, there must have been over twenty. I remembered that one time when a Lab Tech was taking my blood one of the chemo nurses came into the room and the Tech started teasing the nurses about all the pins she was wearing.
“I have to wear them all” she said laughing “because the pins are gifts from patients, and if one of them see me not wearing the gift that they gave me they might get offended.”
Angles, the patients gave them gifts of angel pins, not pink ribbons, not funny medical symbol pins, but angel pins. Pins of every size, color and shape. Happy angels, sad angels, flying angels, standing angels, praying angels. When a patient looks at these women, they see angels, and why not. These nurses did the dirty work; they injected poison into your body, hoping to give you life. They hold your hand, calm your fears and just listen to you babble. There is a special place in heaven for these women and the patients knew it.
After Eva finished injected the last of the chemo, she put another large needle with more clear liquid back in to my hand and the little machine.
“More steroids.” She said. Then she was gone. I returned to my book on tape while waiting for the process to end. From beginning to end the whole process took about 2 hours. Eva came back she asked if I felt like I had to sneeze, Funny thing was I did. She told me that that was a normal feeling right after chemo, then she gave me some pills, more anti-vomit medication and sent me on my way. Alison got me home and I thanked her again for being there for me.
“How was it?” My husband asked.
“Not bad.” I answered, then I told him the details about what had happened. Much to my surprised I was feeling pretty good, so Mark suggested that we got out to dinner. Eva had said that there 'were no dietary restriction,' so I could eat what ever I wanted. The kids wanted to go to their favorite restaurant Friendy's, so off we went.
We don't go out to eat very often, so it is always a treat when we do. I always find it funny when I read some magazine article which is written to help the reader "Reduce their spending" because one of the first things the article always tells you is to reduce your dinners out to one or two a week. ONE OR TWO A WEEK! Who are these writers anyway? We go out to dinner once or twice a month.
We love the food at Friendy's-almost everything is deep fried I can hear my arteries harden while I munch on the tasty French fries. Mark and I have learned over the years that if we want to leave the restaurant not feeling bloated that we should share a meal and only eat a small ice cream. Knowing the right thing to do and doing the right thing are two different things. I was feeling really hungry when we arrived at the restaurant, more hungry than usual.
"LOOK" Mark said "They are having a special on fajitas, they look good." And they did. I though that he was going to order the fajitas so I thought that I would also. I ordered first, they he ordered something smaller and more sensible, but I really wanted those fajitas. The food came, the girls ate their chicken fingers, Mark had his hamburger and I devoured my fajitas. "I have never seen you eat so much food!"
"Really?" I said stuffing more food into my mouth, then I ordered dessert.
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Around 7:30pm I started to feel nauseous, I was not supposed to take my anti-vomit medicine for another half hour. I took it anyway. By 8:00 I was feeling worse, so I went to bed, leaving Mark to take care of the girls.
While I was going through all this it was easy to feel sorry for myself, but I realized just how luck I was. I had a husband that took over the care of our children and/or the house anytime that I needed it. I was able to crawl into bed anytime that I wanted to and my husband would drop what ever he was doing in order to take care of his family, as long as the sermon got done, every thing else could wait. We were lucky that both his boss and the congregation not only back his decision to put us first, but helped us in anyway that they could.
One time while I was in the cancer waiting room I read an article in the magazine ‘Cancer Today’ or some title like that. Anyway the article was by a single woman who was dealing with the cancer treatment. She was married when she was diagnosed but she was single now. She said something like it was sad how many men left their wives when the woman found out that she had cancer. To paraphrase her “The husbands left with the health insurance, but left the women with the children.” The article just reinforced just what a good husband I had.
So, as sick as I was feeling, I knew that I could focus on myself. By 9:00pm I was vomiting over and over again. Mark looked so sad to know that there was not a thing that he could do to help me. It became to much work getting in and out of our bed every time that I threw up so I brought a blanket and pillow and lied down in the hall just outside of the bathroom (the bathroom was too small to lied down in). I threw up over and over again, remember I had a huge dinner and it was all coming up. This went on all night. I finally crawled back in to bed around 5:00 am.
I was scheduled to work on Saturday the 16th, nobody including me was sure how much work I could handle, I lasted only a few hours. This was the first day that I wore the gloves to work. My co-workers knew why I was wearing them but none of the patrons did. Here is where a reputation of being slightly eccentric comes in handy, some people looked at me a little strange, but most just accepted my wearing gloves without a thought. I was surprised to see how dirty the gloves were after working for only a few hours, I would have to wash them before I could wear them again. This only reinforced my decision to wear them in the first place.

I had been warned that the worst day would be the third day after the chemo treatment, It was, except for that throwing up part. I felt like I had not sleep in ten years. The girls and I skipped church and I stayed in bed all day.
I spent the rest of the week getting my strength back, I worked my normal hours On Saturday the church has their "First Annual Rummage Sale" (we are having a lot of firsts at the church this year. Mostly it consists of church members cleaning out their attic and basements but we have managed to attract some real venders. We also are having a bake sale if there is anything that Methodist cane do well is cook, the cup cakes and cooking look delicious, to bad the mer thought of a cupcake makes me want to throw-up.
Not only did I bake some great looking cupcakes (chocolate filling, white frosting and each decorated with a single colorful M&M, they were a big hit). But we had a table of our own. It was fun, I sat in the shade most of the time hocking my wears. Mark spent most of the time wandering from table to table doing that Pastor thing that he does so well. It was also good for the Church members to see me out of the house, smiling and not looking various shades of green. Remember I didn't go to church last Sunday, and as Mark and I would learn, if I don't go to church everyone thinks something terrible has happened to me, they worry so. One of the Church members gets elected to find out how I am and the report it back to the rest of the church members. They were so upset last week that Mark I decided that no mater how bad I feel I have to go to church so the congregation won't worry so much. It is wonderful to have so many people looking after me, but it is also a burden.
The strangest thing about having cancer and telling people about it is that you become the center of attention. Being notice is something many people strive for, whether it's local fame or international fame and I have always wonder why. I wonder even more now. At first it was kind of cool having all the cards sent to me, I felt very loved. Then I found that whenever I entered a room people would come over to me to ask how I was doing, and what was next in my treatment schedule. Even the ladies that I met every day at the middle school when I pick up Ronnie would stop their conversations as soon as I join the group and all of them become focused on me. I am not used to being the center of attention I found it unsettling. Being one of four children you get use to being part of a group, not a stand alone individual.
I find myself feeling frighten sometimes, all these people telling me how strong that I am, and that they could never handle the cancer as bravely as I am.
"You have no choice" I tell them, "You do what is necessary to survive."
"No, no" they tell me "I could never go through what you are going through, and handle it so graciously." I just give them an "Ahaw shucks" look and try to change the subject. They don't see me when I am alone. They don't see me when I get so depressed that I that I become almost comatose, or when find myself crying suddenly. They don't see me when I get so angry that I throw things at my walls or hold a pillow over my face and scream in to it. I am not brave, yet I feel that everyone wants me to be brave for them, I can't always do it, some days I allow myself to fall apart just a little in front of people, but most of the time I try to make jokes about my treatment. I feel this weird need to perform for my audience. With the exception of my wedding day when I got to play 'The Bride' I have never been the focus of so many people. Every cough, every sneeze and it…
"Are you ok?" or "Do you need to sit down" I go from liking it to hating it. For the first time I understand why people who get sudden fame crash and burn so often. Sometimes I'll ask Mark to run some of my errands just because I don't want to talk to anyone that I might run in to. I want my friend's help, I need my friend's help, but sometimes all these people around me gets to be too much.