Wednesday & Thursday

OCSRI (Oklahoma Cancer Specialists and Research Institute) is very good at minimizing patient waiting times. Thus, Bev and I figured that with my labs and appointment with Dr. Moussa’s nurse at 2 pm, we would easily be done by 3pm and be able to get back to Bartlesville in time for the 4 pm Ash Wednesday service at Good Shepherd.

Yes, you’re right. Things did not go as planned. The problem was not waiting times; instead, it was my port. It is usually a bit difficult to start the blood flow from it, but this time it just didn’t work. The nurse spent a good twenty minutes trying, having me get into various positions (turn on right side, turn on left side, arm or arms up, sit up and bend over, stand up and bend over) but none worked, though they did make me plenty dizzy. So she went to the last resort, loading a clot buster into the port.  No, not for a blood clot but to dissolve fibers that can build up within the line. Thus, I had to have blood drawn from my arm.

By the time I got to my appointment, the technician and nurse were wondering where I was. I explained even thought they could readily see that needle and syringe were still attached to my port. Because the blood draw had been delayed, only my white blood count was available, and it was high, which was no problem as far as getting my infusion the next day, so she tentatively approved it. I told her about my problems with sleep lately (which could be a side effect of Trodelvy) and she suggested some things for better sleep hygiene that I agreed to work on.

After that, I went back down to the lab to have the needle and syringe removed. I think we left shortly after 3 pm.

So far, so good, except for the stop and go traffic backed up for several miles on Hwy 75 due to a bridge repair. We finally got to the church about 4:15. The service ended around 4:30. Pam, our commissioned pastor, used a lovely liturgy, served communion, and imposed ashes on our foreheads. I’m glad we at least caught the last half of the service.

The next day, Thursday, was my infusion here in Bartlesville. Though my liver enzymes were high, they were still able to follow through with my treatment. It was a quieter and smaller group in the treatment room than the last time.

Getting home, I had the usual treatment day effects: drowsy still from the Benadryl and brain fog that did not allow much concentration. Surprisingly, I slept pretty well despite the steroids in my system.

And today is Friday. I am hoping that no one is sick in the Hemminger household so that I can hang out with them later today. . . and no one was, I’m home now and one happy camper.

 

 

Wasting Time

While it is true that God has given me so many blessings and great peace amid cancer, it is also true that I have “blah” days in which I waste hours away.

This morning (Saturday, Feb. 14), I woke up with motivation but, as often is the case, it quickly disappeared after my shower and getting dressed for the day. Until cancer, I never understood how much a shower can cause so much fatigue. I mean, I always experience a hot shower as a lovely luxury while I’m in it, but then my energy goes down the drain with the soap and water.

After my shower, it is time to kick back in my recliner. Seriously? I need time to relax so soon after getting up? My brain needs as much relaxation as my body. Reading takes too much focus, so I play a few easy games on my Kindle. There goes my intention to leave the house.

Yet today is higher energy than early on in my treatments last fall. Then, getting up from my chair to walk to the bathroom was an energy-draining event. Today, I am doing laundry. Three loads, in fact. Plus, I’ve emptied the dishwasher.

It’s a blessing that I have a fragmented sleep schedule. I’m often up between four and five a.m. because I can’t get back to sleep and am hungry anyway. So, I get up, eat a light breakfast, and then turn to some Bible reading and journaling. That is followed by going back to bed and listening to a favorite Christian album. I usually fall asleep again for a while.

So, the day has drifted by with me in the recliner most of the time, except for the one-hour nap I took in bed this afternoon.

I should have spent some time outdoors with this mild weather, but I didn’t. Cedar and juniper pollen are high and being outside results in more congestion and coughing.

Admittedly, I feel guilty about these do-nothing days. There are small, easy tasks I could do to declutter, some of them even from the comfort of my recliner.

Pretty soon it will be time to have supper. And then, before I know it, the evening will be gone.

One more thing. I noticed sometime back that my eyebrows have mostly disappeared, and my upper eyelashes are short and sparse. (The lower eyelashes went away with the first cancer in 2016-17 and have never come back.) I thought of doing a parody of a nursery rhyme on the subject, but only got this far: Oh where, oh where have my eyebrows gone? Oh where, oh where can they be?

Time to check the laundry and decide which meal to zap in the microwave.

That’s all for now, folks.

Thursday and Friday

The treatment room was extra spirited yesterday, and the three big conversationalists were all men! Two patients with spouses there, one spouse with wife the patient. Lots of humor and laughter. Admittedly, I had hoped to read, but couldn’t concentrate, so I resorted to Kindle games and listened to the talkers nearby. (Just close enough to hear some, but far enough away to make it hard to participate.) However, near the end of my treatment, I did have chance to talk with John Smith (not a pseudonym!) and his wife Sharon. We talked about our faith. Evidently, he does music performances—he plays guitar and harmonica—and some occasional preaching. I can see that he and his wife have a lovely, close relationship. He’s the sort of person who fills up a room with good humor and his striking appearance: in his mid-70s (you can’t help but hear everyone’s date of birth, which the nurses ask for whenever they change out an IV bag), way too skinny from illness, and an impressive handlebar moustache. 

So, like last week, I’ve had an easier response to the infusion so far: fatigue but not debilitating. Well, I kind of overdid it this morning. I emptied the refrigerator top shelf to wipe it down, then put things back in. And opened the lemon fizzy water box to put some cans in, followed by opening the box of Café Latte Premier Protein drinks that Hopestone provides for me and putting all twelve in the refrigerator, too. At the very most, that all took a half hour. Naturally, I did not realize I was overdoing until I sat down afterwards.

I laid down for the 45 minutes before I had to leave to get the injection that helps boost my white blood cell count. I wasn’t sure if I was up to the fifteen-minute drive across town, but I really wanted to do it instead of having my son take me. So, I did. It is a beautiful sunny day, temperature in the mid-60s. Such a lovely reprieve from the Arctic chill and snow at the end of January.

On the way back home, I stopped off at The Eatery, which has the most amazing bakery. I bought two things: a chocolate chunk scone and strawberry shortcake, to be enjoyed over the next couple days. And I learned, again, that my chemo brain is alive and active. Using a gift card, I managed to leave a ten-dollar tip on a fourteen-dollar purchase. When I realized what I had done, I was not happy, but the person who waited on me sure was! I best not try to do my income taxes until next week, when hopefully my brain will work better.

The Former Pain

How easy it is to forget the former pain.

When I see a woman struggling under the addiction and/or abuse of her husband, I remember how it is to feel stuck, trapped in a toxic relationship. The endless cycle: the wild swing of emotions from hope to desperation, followed by the emotional numbing to cope with the present, followed by the next wild swing, followed by the numbing, and so on. The terrible burden of responsibility and futility.

When I see a woman bludgeoned by the presence of cancer, terrified for the future and trying so hard to be brave as her world fractures, my heart goes out to her.

When I see a woman apologizing for her very existence as she receives chemotherapy, asking the nurse if she is allowed to throw up and determined not to if the answer is no, I want to tell her that she has worth.

When I see a woman blindsided by her husband’s betrayal, I remember the shock and gut punch of pain.

When I see these, I remember a past that seems so distant that I forget about all who still live within those prisons. I am humbled, profoundly grateful to be free. Freed by means I have yet to understand but summed up with these words: God’s grace. I am no special case deserving special favor, but I am wholly, joyfully indebted to Jesus.

And that he even spared me the horror of cancer. Yes, this is the third and final go-round with cancer. But somehow, throughout, he has spared me the horror, a miracle in itself. I don’t have to be strong and battle against the cancer. I am weak and, as the old saying goes, F.R.O.G. (Fully Relying On God).

I hardly know what to do when I see suffering. If there is opportunity, I can offer kindness, encouragement, and a listening ear. And when there is no opportunity, I can pray.