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| VCU advertises at our exit into Richmond |
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10:30 update (my first from Dalton!) Well, it's never a good sign when the RN comes to give you your blood work update and she's carrying a big stack of masks.... Not good..... Ah, well, my blood counts have dropped across the board and I will be getting an infusion of platelets (which I've had before) as well as packed red blood cells. Given the pretreatment drugs and then the infusions themselves, who knows how long I'll be here. "Have you had lunch yet?" Trudy my RN asked so I infer that it will be quite a substantial time. Joe immediately offered to go out for some frozen yogurt! Yeah! The irony is that I feel great - rested and relatively strong. However, given the parallels with my first chemo cycle, I suppose this development isn't totally unexpected. Now the challenge is to avoid the neutropenic fever (and hospital admission) that came with that cycle .... So, thank goodness for my iPad, a stack of New Yorkers, and a terrific husband who keeps my spirits up (and stomach sated) even when I'm feeling like a stereotypical cancer patient (no one can ignore reality in the infusion / treatment room -- it's a kick in the gut).
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| O positive |
The infusion room provided its usual personal challenges for me: blocking out the insipid lowest common denominator TV blaring "Lets Make A Deal" etc, avoiding prolonged conversation with the circulating Reverend Jim who does not read my clear-as-day-Unitarian Universalist-do-not-violate-my-personal-space-and-talk-to-me-about-private-spiritual-matters-body language, and trying to focus on the positives while in a room eerily reminiscent of the pod scenes from "The Matrix." Happily, I grabbed a corner chair as far from the TV as possible, succeeded in getting the TV volume down (at times) and the channel changed off infomercials (that NO one was watching), and managed to make brief non-hostile small talk with Rev. Jim when he tried (once again) to bond.
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| One small view of the 20 chair infusion / treatment room |
As I left, the RNs cautioned me that I am officially "neutropenic" and should be on guard against infection. Basically, I have no traceable neutrophils in my blood count. This deficit is a strong concern but not a great surprise since I have shown a pattern of being a "strong but slow responder" to Neulasta. With this advisory and my shockingly low energy level (hey, what's with this? I was just transfused!), I am now crashing on the couch catching up on the DVRed Wimbledon men's semifinals. Thank goodness that game shows, soap operas, and infomercials do not update sporting events; my cone of silence has held!
2 comments:
Having spent many a long day in an infusion room with my mom, I can understand exactly what you mean. That first visit brought terror of the unknown to my mom's heart and tore at my own heartstrings. I can feel those feelings now as I reflect on that first visit. Like you, Mom always wore her street clothes. She didn't want to appear "sick." This was a two-edged sword, however. Since Mom always looked put together others didn't realize how difficult the fight was for her. To combat the treatment room sights, we played cards, watched movies and enjoyed one another's company. We'd close the curtain if we had the luxury of a room with a bed and tune out all others.
Way to go, Chrissy! Keep up the fantastic work (and it is work) you are doing to heal.
I ASPIRE to have a private infusion room but somehow it's not yet been in the offing. When I am scheduled for Rituxan, I am steeled and ready to deal with the very public infusion room but today it totally took me by surprise. When in the treatment room, I like to cocoon and focus internally despite the people 2 feet from each side of me, the every-15-minute vitals, and the presence of Reverend Jim who really puts me on guard. I know he means well but I am not warm-hearted about proselytizing under the best of circumstances and in the transfusion room, I am captive, restive, and tense about his visits.... Thank goodness I am becoming adept at feigning sleep (but he WAITS for me) and being genuinely absorbed in my private activities. I choose to view this challenge as an opportunity to practice patience, positive attitude, and clear communication and hope that he eventually learns to respect my private space.
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