Mondays are date nights. Tuesdays are treatment days.
Today was a long day. The first appointment with the oncologist at was 9:00. That lasted an hour or so. Then the infusion appointment. But it was delayed waiting for the blood work. We were directed by the charge nurse to go have lunch and come back in 45 minutes.
For whatever reason, and I am really not so Suzie Sunshine (actually, Jim's favorite nickname for me is much worse, Suzie Safety, but I digress), I told Jim it felt like we were exploring a foreign city. At least the Georgetown campus was foreign to me, and an hour meandering in unfamiliar area, without kids, time somewhat suspended, no real work pressure or constant email checking, and then sitting for lunch and chatting felt very indulgent. To be clear, we ate at the campus Cosi so it really wasn't all that, but still.
What else. We had a good appointment with The Good Doctor. Because I'm me I told her I'd been making a little fun at her expense. She was undaunted so I explained. You know that despite all of the innovation and advances in the treatment technologies, she comes into the room and pulls a tape measure out of her pocket. It's like an old-fashioned bra fitting, but instead its tumor measuring. Pretty much equally demoralizing endeavors, in my experience. Anyway, we had a laugh or two about it.
Back to the infusion. I'm jumping all over the place here. It was uneventful and fine. We didn't get home until after 4. I had the energy to play a bit with both boys, do the dinnertime, bedtime scramble, watch the Caps (no comment) and now blog. I'm taking lots of meds - I mean I am on five nausea meds, so the toxic drugs are doing their best to make their presence known.
It's all Pacman, wocka, wocka in there. And for the record, wocka wocka in my book is the sound of Ms Pacman eating the dots avoiding the ghosts. (apparently The Google isn't so good at understanding my sound meanings and I understand there was at least one lost soul out there, so I'm explaining myself more clearly this time). So, wocka, wocka. Enjoy the tumors because this is my recovery and I like it.
At lunch, we chatted about my appointment with The Good Doctor. I told Jim there was this moment in the appointment when I noticed that there were four women professionals in the room with him. And then I realized I've only seen women medical professionals during this entire process. That is pretty awesome. I mean, medical oncologist, surgeons, nurses, RTs, NPs, all women. My observation about these professionals would just be that they are serious, committed, quiet, passionate and principled professionals. I really respect them and find them familiar creatures.
What else. Oh, the insult to injury list gets updated again. The big BWF. Bald, we knew. Fine. Pixie here today, gone tomorrow. Side story: I totally accepted a bribe yesterday. (not even close. technically, it was more of a reward or incentive and solidly appropriate). Yesterday at work, a young, fashionable woman passed me in the hallway and described my haircut as "fierce." Not a word commonly (ever) associated with anything about me. I'm realistic and recognize that it was a first and last time event for my life. Back in my office, I saw my two Jay-Z tix on my desk. She who earnestly delivers "fierce" took the prize. Enjoy the show.
Back to the BWF. Bald. W is for wrinkles. Discontinue all those fancy face and eye creams because your skin gets sensitive. Today I learned the F. F is for curvy in all the wrong places. Most women gain weight during cancer. Cause you eat all the damn time to manage the steroids and avoid the nausea. Obviously these are not grave concerns, but they do chip away at your sense of control over the margins.
Whatever. "Its the recovery, stupid." Tonight I feel good. Not as good as this morning before I got all juiced up. But I didn't have to spend the day hunkered down in bed eating rice. That'll probably be tomorrow:) A two-day chemo eclipse is better than a three-dayer. Here's hoping.
