Tuesday is Close Enough to last Friday, Right?

This is kind of a moot point now. I’m only writing it because I promised myself I would.

Chemo = Friday

Started out WAY too early after having gotten home so late from the MRI the night before.

Yes, I wore Crocs. They’re easy to get on. Try them sometime.

We got there. It was the normal hustle and bustle of daytime.

It was so freaking crowded, we had to park on the roof of the garage.

Much different during the day.

 

Made it to the Infusion Center on the second floor. It is always a bit surreal going in this place. There are sick people. I mean SICK people, and I’m counted as one of them.

Scary Words: Infusion Center … But they try to trick you with a cute picture muraled (I think I made up that word) on the wall

I mean, I don’t have cancer, but neither does every single person here. I still have a very rare disease, that, if we’re being honest, can kill me at any time it wants.

I don’t mean to be melodramatic, but all it would take is one misplaced, closed vessel, and my breathing would stop … Or my heart would stop … Or some other life-threatening occurance would happen. 

I digress …

Duke does its best to try to make it cheery. We all get to sit in these recliners (I had a bed last time. They are usually reserved for the pregnant or really elderly).

Riveting, isn’t it. They try to trick you to think it’s a party, when you’re really being pumped with poison.

Most of the nurses are cheery, and the patients even get warmed-up blankets … If you aren’t lucky enough to bring your own special blanket from home (It really makes the experience better! You can’t imagine the comfort that comes from having a cozy blanket of your own with you!).

See all the white hospital blankets? I don’t have to have one!

Those lucky enough not to have an infusion port get to play the waiting game for their IV insertion and blood work completion. Blood work and labs are collected each time, to make sure I’m healthy enough to receive the poison … I mean chemo.

I got lucky this time … Only 3 sticks. Last time there were 7.

Waited for over an hour. And might I add, it’s ridiculous how far away the bathrooms are when you can’t walk. I digress.

 

Finally, after what seems an eternity, I got a 500ml bag of normal saline, followed by … In my case … Cytoxan, followed by another 500ml bag of saline.

And there goes the poison into my veins. Notice the blue drape hung up for the nurses to wear. They can’t handle the chemo without it.

Luckily (does sarcasm translate to blogese?) I developed a reaction this time to the Cytoxan. I got flushed (pink) and nauseated. So I had the privilege of getting a Zofran injection and waiting another 30-45 minutes before they could restart the infusion.

Ugh. Felt bad.

At least they have TVs mounted for each person while they feel like barfing.

 

After they restarted the infusion, it was pretty smooth-sailing, as much as being tethered in place to an IV poison infusion can be considered smooth sailing. All told, we were gone from the house about 9 hours on Friday.  I got lucky. I go once a month. While there, I heard a lady who was there again, who had just been infused the day before. I can thank God that wasn’t my case! 

I did, and still do, feel awful the days following (I had felt pretty normal after the first time). I do, however get tired of telling people I feel awful, so if you ask, be prepared for, “I feel fine!” It’s a lie, but at least it’s a happy one that people like to hear.

Can’t quite stay awake.

I’m really not in the right frame-of-mind to be writing this in my normal “no-worries” attitude.  I’m still trying to recover, and get back that “can-do” attitude. It’s tough today, I’m not going to lie. But, I know all of you are behind me with love and prayers, and that helps!

*** On a side note, my parents got “the call” in the middle of the night Sunday. My SIL is extremely close to the birth of my new nephew. Pray for my parents as they rush to Texas, and for the whole family surrounding the birth! We are all rooting for you PEKOE!!

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6 thoughts on “Tuesday is Close Enough to last Friday, Right?

  1. Cleda stephens says:

    Bless you Dear Amanda! I am praying for you as we all are! You do a good job of trying to stay up beat! We could all actually die any time. God does not promise is tomorrow! Praying for your SIL’s delivery tone quick and easy. We got to see John and Megan and little Jack when we went down there last weekend. They are so funny! You can tell they are first time parents! Lol! They read a lot of books and believe all they say. They try to get him to sleep certain hours and eat certain hours keeping him on a schedule. Funny! We know they have their own schedule. I hope he gets on a better schedule before she has to go back to work. Her mother lives close by. Pretty sure Megan will be working nights, which will probably make it a little hard for John since he works days as a coach. He works very hard. Will write more later. Love you and praying for you all!!

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  2. Shannon Hancock says:

    I love you, and this is breaking my heart. I wish I could be there for you now. I have one very close friend with cancer now who is giving up (way too early after only one round of chemo and he hasn’t even had a 100% correct diagnosis yet, just a “we might have seen something on the scan”) and one who is fighting like mad who has less of a chance after several rounds of chemo. I feel like everyone around me is suffering and there is nothing I can do to help any of you. If I were rich I would pop over just for weekend to sit with you and help you and laugh with you when you were awake… watch TV and just do nothing with you. Love and cuddle the kids and help them… spend some time helping your mom too. So although my pocketbook won’t allow it I hope that the sentiment means something. You are family to me.

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    • amandamoring says:

      Shannon, you don’t know how much this means. ❤️ I too feel like giving up this time. I just feel awful. And, while I don’t have cancer, I have something that SUCKS, and I feel like I’ll never be normal again.

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      • Shannon Hancock says:

        You can do this… and you have so many reasons not to give up. The nuropathy sucks but it happens. There is a lovely Christian lady at the kids school names Sunny, she beat brain cancer! Still has issues with the nuropathy but she’s back to work and is a testament to why it’s so important to fight. You can do this.

        Liked by 1 person

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