One chemo down

My Mom sat next to me at the UCSF chemo infusion center on Tuesday for for my first go around.  I knew why my chemo nurse was gowning up, putting on rubber gloves and a face mask before she hooked up first my bag of taxotere.  I also knew the steps that had occurred prior to the drugs being delivered to my chemo chair, as they call it.  I recalled from medical school that the hospital pharmacists, also gowned, gloved and masked, carefully prepared then loaded the chemotherapy medications into their plastic bags under a laboratory hood that vacuums away harmful fumes. Pharmacists and nurses take these measures because they are handling toxic poisons. 


Doesn't chemo look so simple here?

My Mom did not know this, why would anyone outside the medical world know this, so she asked my nurse about her gown, gloves and masks.  I went 'la la la' in my head during their conversation because in about 4 minutes that toxic taxotere was going to flood my veins.


My chemo nurse, Heather, could not have been better.  She exuded wit, light, compassion and appropriate obsessive-compulsive behaviors that are necessary for an oncology nurse to care for her patients safely.  She tripled checked every step and medication, then watched me like a hawk for any adverse reactions.  She knew when to tell a funny anecdote and when to leave me alone to watch "Blades of Glory" on David's iPad.  But best of all, she did not dole out platitudes or condolences.  Instead when various depressing things came up throughout our 4 hours together, she looked me in the eye and said, "Well, life is just absurd isn't it."  To this, I could whole-heartly agree.





see you at the martini mixer in 60 years

At the end of my chemo session she added, "My best friend and I tell each other that after this life, whatever happens next, we will sit together with a cigarette in one hand and a martini in the other and exclaim to one another, 'well what the heck was that all about!'", gesturing wildly with her hands.  She added, "Neither of us smoke or drink but you need the cigarette and martini to get the full affect, don't you think?" as she disconnected my last chemo bag and disposed of it in the large biohazard bin.   

 

Three additional thoughts on unexpected chemo side effects:

 

1. When you get a touch of poison oak on your ankle the weekend before starting chemo, it turns out the high potency steroid you have to pre-medicate with prior to your chemo to help prevent anaphylaxis is a nice two-fer.  No more itchy ankle!

 

2. When your car is side swiped while parked in front of your home the night before your first chemo, you don't care when you find your rear view mirror on your front porch.  Especially because your Dad is going to take care of the police report, insurance claim, and taking it in for repairs.  And what do you say to Geico when they tell you about the $500 deductible?  Ha!  That is nothing compared to what you paid to get your eggs extracted and frozen at UCSF three weeks ago.  Take it Geico!

 

3. When you wake up from another 4 hour afternoon slumber in the days following chemo you find you have unexpectedly re-written David Bowie's Space Oddity song that starts "Ground Control to Major Tom" to "Poison Control to Dr. Les" and all the lyrics thereafter, while in your sleep. Unfortunately your saline filled breast expander slows you down just enough to not reach your bedside pen and paper to jot down the new, fleeting lyrics as you awaken.  Trust me they were good.

 

Final thought:

Dad, thanks for agreeing this print was unacceptable chemo waiting area artwork.